


Boyfri(endgame)

by ForASecondThereWedWon



Series: Affinity War [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: (that's an MJ thing), Brad Davis Ambush Party, Cindy gives good advice but is also very Jumpy™, CondomGate, Established Relationship, F/M, Felonies for Beginners, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Reveal, June Jones rides again, MJ's kink, Peter didn't choose the Compound life - he was exiled there because he's wanted for murder, Phone Sex, Post-Spider-Man: Far From Home, Protective Peter Parker, Sexting, a home run in every sense of the term, a very horny birthday in 2 acts, aka everybody lived and it was totally fine, all our usual post-Infinity War denial, bespoke B.A.R.F., does quoting French philosophers ALWAYS qualify as flirting?, feelings parkour!, just Spidey things, may I offer you a large slice of:, sir those are my emotional support couch-cuddles, so if something was true then it's true now, spiders gotta stick together, spies already know too much (so please keep the details of your sex life to yourself), this is the sequel to my fic Affinity War, what's Peter packing? (it's clothes you perves)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:33:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 29
Words: 103,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22516285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForASecondThereWedWon/pseuds/ForASecondThereWedWon
Summary: Telling Peter she loved him was the biggest challenge of MJ's life....Until that idiot got himself accused of murder.Sequel toAffinity War.
Relationships: Michelle Jones/Peter Parker, background Betty Brant/Ned Leeds, background Bruce Banner/Natasha Romanov, background May Parker/Happy Hogan, background Pepper Potts/Tony Stark - Relationship
Series: Affinity War [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1618792
Comments: 941
Kudos: 544





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, I love you, I'm so pleased to see you again, and I wouldn't be embarking on another one of these things without you. Now that's taken care of... **THIS IS A SEQUEL!** IF YOU HAVEN'T READ PART ONE ( _AFFINITY WAR_ ), GET THE HELL OUTTA HERE AND COME BACK ONCE YOU HAVE!
> 
> We're picking things up from the end of _Far From Home_. That very day, in fact, meaning Peter's identity has just been exposed by that joker over at _The Daily Bugle_. The timeline of my personal canon goes: _Avengers: Infinity War_ (but Thanos was defeated and nothing got dusty), then _Affinity War_ , then _Spider-Man: Far From Home_ (but Peter and MJ were already dating, per _AW_ ), and now _Boyfri(endgame)_. All I really need for you to accept before we begin is that Tony and Nat are alive (fuck off, _Avengers: Endgame_ , you didn't make the timeline) and that Spideychelle definitely banged their way across Europe.
> 
> Oh, and I hope you all remember the rule about no endnotes.
> 
> Let's go.

I

“Love, am I right?”

Happy nodded, chewing his toast, then wiping crumbs from his beard with finger and thumb.

“This is burnt,” he pointed out, lifting the toast for MJ’s inspection.

“It wasn’t for you in the first place.”

He shrugged and took another, more careful bite, trying not to let the charred edge poke him in the roof of his mouth again.

“I might know May significantly better than I know you―”

“She told me you’re Facebook friends.”

“Twitter now too.”

“May tweets? Huh. Did not know that.”

“Anyway,” MJ pressed on, leaning back against the kitchen counter, “I think the Crown Jewels vault was exactly the kind of high-pressure situation in which a person shows their true colours. So, I’d like to conclude, to your relief―”

“My relief?” Happy appeared deeply alarmed.

“Ask your boss about the importance of making a good impression on me.”

“Will do.”

“I’d like to conclude,” she repeated, “that I have a good feeling about you. I’m rooting for you. Even if things have just gone thoroughly to hell and your girlfriend is the one person in this apartment who doesn’t know you’re in love with her.”

Happy sighed in an acknowledgement seemingly of mixed emotions.

“Love,” MJ repeated, understanding completely.

“Now, wait a minute,” he said as his face shifted into a suspicious frown. “Does that mean you and Peter have―”

“Been honest about how we feel? Built a relationship around open lines of communication? Possessed enough self-awareness to not only recognize but―”

“HEY, ARE YOU GUYS GONNA HELP?” Peter shouted from down the hall.

“YEAH, BABE,” MJ called back.

Happy gave her the fed-up expression her boyfriend told her she should expect from him.

“Finish your toast.”

He stuffed it grumpily into his mouth.

When they stuck their heads into May’s bedroom, May flipped her hair back and squinted, in the middle of dragging a box.

“Wha―?! Are you eating? Helping, Happy, _helping_.”

Happy glared at MJ, but she meant what she said about rooting for him, so she was willing to take his side.

“We were just using up the end of the loaf you had. It’s not like you’re going to pack it and we didn’t want there to be any waste,” she supplied.

“Oh, well, thank you, honey,” May said with a tired smile. “Wanna help me move the mattress?”

“Whoa, whoa, no.” Peter’s voice came from the closet. He emerged, tripping, with an armful of hangers; MJ gave her idiot a fond smile. “May, we’re not moving the mattress.”

“You’re not moving the mattress,” Happy confirmed, rolling up his shirtsleeves to lift the box May kicked his way.

“They can put that in storage for us or something,” Peter suggested. “There are mattresses at the compound.”

“So I can’t even sleep in my own bed?!” May demanded. Visibly exasperated, she sunk onto the bed and put her head in her hands.

Happy and MJ exchanged a look. Reassuring May through the transition from regular life to a hasty move into the Upstate compound because the world had just found out her nephew was Spider-Man was boyfriend territory. Happy set his box back down and approached his girlfriend with a compassionate expression. Peter discarded the hangers and flipped over the half-packed contents of his aunt’s room. Interlacing their fingers, MJ used her other hand to shut the door of May’s bedroom behind them. They headed to Peter’s room.

“Ms. Romanoff’s already in the city undercover,” Peter informed her as he crammed his backpack to max capacity, “so she’s gonna be dropping her SUV off and finding her own way back to the compound. She said something about trawling the Financial District for luxury cars parked in tow away zones and how the ‘arrogant shitheads’ who own them have it coming.”

“Badass,” MJ murmured. She plucked a deconstructed cardboard box off the stack Peter had gotten from Mr. Delmar’s reopened store on their way back to the apartment and started folding and taping it into shape.

“Happy and May will take the SUV and fill it with as much stuff as it’ll hold... and as much as we’ve got packed by the time it gets here. And they’ll have to pack it themselves, and fast, because we don’t want to attract attention. It won’t take long for people to find out where I live.”

“Right.”

“Mr. Stark sent a self-driving car for me from the compound as soon as the _Bugle_ story broke, and that’ll take me―”

“Obviously.”

“―plus the rest of our stuff.” He glanced at his phone. “We have... maybe an hour and a half?”

He looked up to check with her, for some reason. MJ shrugged.

“Whatever you say, nerd.”

His shoulders slumped but he grinned.

“Even now?”

“Even now. What, you thought having your identity revealed to the whole world meant you’d get sympathy from me?”

“Thanks for the consistency.”

“You’re welcome.”

Peter sighed as he pulled out his suitcase and started filling it with clothes.

“I miss Prague.”

MJ reached over to stroke his arm.

“This isn’t going to be worse than fighting the fake fire monster. Maybe it’s stressful getting out of the city, but once you’re at the compound, you’ll be totally secure. After that...” MJ didn’t have a plan. She squeezed Peter’s shoulder. “We’ll figure it out. It’s going to be fine.”

Slowly, Peter nodded, then glanced at her. She didn’t realize her black dahlia had swung free of the neck of her shirt until her boyfriend touched it with careful fingers.

“I was actually thinking about the other stuff that happened in Prague.” With suppressed glee, MJ watched her boyfriend’s face turn pink.

“Why are you blushing, Peter?” she teased. “From what I remember, you’re the one who initiated a lot of _the other stuff_.”

“ _You’re_ the one who snuck into my room!”

“I had to sneak in. The Elementals were an international crisis and Mr. Harrington was on high alert.”

“The method of entering the room wasn’t really my point!”

“Then tell me, _Spider-Man_ ,” MJ requested, wrapping her hand around Peter’s to press it against her chest, the dahlia trapped under his palm as his gaze lowered, “what was your point?”

“Car’s here!” Happy announced, poking his head into Peter’s room, a box in his arms.

Peter huffed and pulled his hand, and his gaze, away.

“Ok,” he said, rushing into the hallway ahead of MJ and scanning his eyes over scattered possessions, some packed and some not. “I’ll-I’ll... help you load these into the elevator,” he said.

“You’re staying here to pack and not be seen,” MJ told him, sending him back towards his bedroom with a gentle shove. She swivelled to Happy. “I’ll help.”

“Great,” Happy said with a nod. “Glad someone’s making herself useful.”

Peter frowned at him.

MJ tied her hair (still frazzled and not so much windblown as _swing_ blown after Peter carried her back to the apartment at a frantic speed with too many tight corners) back and went to the apartment’s front door, propping it open. Happy and May rushed out with boxes to stack by the elevator and MJ followed. They loaded everything inside as quickly as they could when it dinged open.

“See you soon,” May promised, giving MJ a tight hug while Happy kept the door from closing.

MJ just nodded. She didn’t really want to think about saying goodbye to May because right behind that was the much more difficult goodbye she’d need to say way too soon.

“If you ever want to talk...” MJ offered Happy, who looked nervous, as if she’d be stupid enough to blurt something out. “...about how to say certain things to certain people... give me a call.”

“I just might,” he finally agreed. He flashed her an open palm of farewell, releasing the elevator door. “Take care.”

She fought against the feeling of her heart sinking with the elevator and strode briskly back to the Parkers’ apartment; she hated moving briskly. It was another thing she planned to hold against the asshole who leaked that Mysterio footage to the press.

In MJ’s estimation, Peter had seen enough of her carefully concealed positive emotions―her kindness, her love, her willingness (fine, her _desire_ ) to be cuddled. She didn’t need to throw open the curtains on the negative stuff too, didn’t need to spend their final hour together for who knew how long letting him see her worry and her heartbreak. Back in Peter’s bedroom, she kicked her sneakers off and directed all of her energy into assembling and filling cardboard boxes of everything Peter thought he and May would want or need, plus a lot of extra shit, just in case. Neither Peter nor MJ wasted words lying about how the Parkers could come back to grab anything they’d forgotten.

She was getting a taste of uncertainty and it made her want to spit. Her mother, a doctor, confronted uncertainty every day and knew how to deal with it. MJ wanted to hold her boyfriend’s hand, but she couldn’t tell if it would be to keep him here or to run away at his side. As disgustingly, horrifically, graphically romantic as that sounded.

When they had the essentials more or less stacked in the entryway, and they were lying on their backs on the living room floor, and MJ’s anxieties had been temporarily beaten back by manual labour, she rolled over and stared at Peter’s sock feet.

“Not to pile on with everything that’s already on your mind,” she began, “but this is probably the last chance to have sex we’re going to get for a while.”

Peter sat bolt upright. The thought of his stomach muscles clenching under his dumb t-shirt made MJ’s head spin. He looked down at her, eyes eager.

“That’s the exact opposite of piling on.”

Grabbing the back of MJ’s neck, Peter threw himself over her, lips colliding with her smile.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys. What a reception to chapter one! Massive thanks to the following readers who commented on it: hunter139, HiImMoral, Mike, HouseOfBricks, Gamergeek16, teenybeanie, inasentimentalmood, Lara, ArmaadaJ, Blackjack_xxi, Eowima, Theslytherinterran, Torvalvt, tvfanatic97, writteninwater, AnarchyRules, SpideyFics, kitty22803, and Soonersgirl86. Many familiar names! The early encouragement means _everything_.
> 
> Now, are we ready for some smut and angst?

II

How it started: like Venice. All romance, with deep kisses. Peter’s tongue curling with hers and her hips lifting unconsciously towards his as he ran a firm, steady hand down her thigh. His breath wavered between kisses; the sound of it made her pulse and clench. The blinds Happy had drawn out of probably appropriate levels of paranoia darkened the living room and Peter crawled on top of MJ like they were two freshly-risen nightmare creatures, ready to do depraved things on the bare earth of a cave. These were MJ’s romantic thoughts. There was something so unexpectedly erotic about screwing Peter on the living room floor.

He tucked the necklace he’d given her less than a week ago back into her t-shirt and, languidly squirming beneath him, MJ worked that t-shirt off. Peter panted, dropping his mouth to her sternum for loose kisses. Smoothing her hands down his torso, she moaned with the pleasure of touching him. They were spoiled in Europe, spending nights together in between Peter trying to save whatever city they were in. Two days―they’ve been back _two days_ , she realizes―and it’s _heady_. The soft yearning reminded MJ of their first time, after the dance Peter never showed up at, except they moved together with more... unspoken comprehension now. He tipped onto his back at the subtlest press of her hand to his hip.

On top, MJ tucked her face into Peter’s throat, sucking his skin and kissing it all over. Her boyfriend exhaled sharply through his nose. He reached down and she heard him undo his jeans, knew it was for relief, jumped a little when he pressed his knuckles to the seam of _her_ jeans, making the denim stimulate her clit.

“Hands where I can see them, Spider-Man,” she suggested, smirking as she caught his wrists and pinned them down by his shoulders.

“Play fair,” he said breathlessly.

“I’m always fair,” she whispered beneath his jaw.

“You abuse the name.”

When his hands seemed willing to stay where she’d put them, MJ released Peter, going for the hem of his t-shirt and drawing it up so she could plant her palms on his reliably ridiculous abs. Still ripped, she could confirm it. They kept making action figures of her boyfriend and she doubted they ever got it right, just how finely muscled he was. The thought that toy companies and other memorabilia manufacturers now had the chance to make an action figure of Peter Parker as well as Spider-Man and that this gave them another shot at reinterpreting his abs briefly hurt her. She refocused on him.

“Is it better when I use your real name?”

“D-don’t,” he stammered, swallowing as he slipped his hand around the back of her neck. It was an empty warning. MJ kissed leisurely up the side of his face.

“ _Peter_ ,” she said into his ear.

She couldn’t help laughing when he shuddered, but she sat back first, letting out the burst of noise away from his ear. Even with her shirt off and his jeans parted around the bulge in his boxers she was waiting with great restraint to rub herself against, Peter darted gentle eyes up to hers. Her heart flopped uneasily and she couldn’t hold her smile. Whatever he was about to say, staring at her with intention, didn’t matter. MJ couldn’t know, didn’t want to hear it. If he would just―

“I’m going to mi―”

She folded her hand over his mouth, shaking her head.

“No,” she said. Just two letters, one syllable, and it wobbled.

Too tenderly, only making it worse, Peter laid his palm on the back of her hand, then peeled it away so he could speak.

“You gotta let me say how much I’m going to miss you.”

“Shut up. We’re not talking about that right now.”

“You know I won’t really be far,” he offered, a poor consolation. MJ knew her eyes were welling up, but she didn’t know _he_ knew, until Peter blurted, “I need you,” and tugged her back down by the shoulders, connecting their mouths with desperation.

Her noise was surprise. His was a deep groan that raised goosebumps down the middle of her back where his fingers swiftly chased. That was when it quit being like Venice. Now, it wasn’t like anything they’d done or anyplace they’d done it. Now, it was Peter’s hands holding her like she’d be torn away and MJ’s hands taking his shirt off whether he was damn well going to help her or not. Her hips slid magnetically to his. The second she flung her bra off, he was pinching her nipples, spikes of pleasure that were distracting and made a mess of her attempts to kiss him neatly.

“I think I packed the condoms,” he rushed out between smacking kisses.

“No, I did.”

Peter rolled her nipples in tandem and she ground down on his lap.

“You might be right, but how is that helping?”

MJ laughed sharply against his mouth, pinching _his_ nipples in return.

“When are you going to learn just how tight the pockets are in women’s jeans?” She reached into her back pocket and withdrew a wrapped condom between two fingers, holding it up to Peter’s face so he could see. “Swinging all the fuck over New York and this thing didn’t budge.”

He groaned in delight, sliding his hands around to her back and hauling her close to fleetingly kiss her neck.

“You are a _great_ girlfriend.”

“I know,” she acknowledged, teasing his lip with the tip of her tongue when he showed his face again.

“Really great.”

“I really know.”

MJ held onto the condom as Peter felt between them to unbutton and unzip her jeans, handing it over when he finished. What she saw coming: the way his gaze dallied on her chest as his hand crept back to cup her breast. What she didn’t: the clap of her boyfriend’s other hand against her ass; he spanked her before gripping the seat of her jeans, shoving her hips to his as he flipped them to land on top of her.

“Corporal punishment now, really?” she asked, flushed from being repositioned... and from how Peter was now bucking shallowly between her legs, both of their jeans provocatively undone.

It was all she could come up with. The light spank might have startled her, but she didn’t disdain it the way her words implied. MJ let her boyfriend catch her mouth with his and slipped her hands around his waist, then lower, settling them on his ass.

“Call it that if you feel like it,” he dared and she saw it: he was shifting into the more arrogant version of himself that came out sometimes if she wasn’t the first to establish dominance. “You wanna talk about punishment?” Peter continued, voice so soft―so deceptively fucking soft―as he kissed behind her ear. She shook.

This was new.

“Why would I be punished?” she questioned tentatively. Peter sat back on his knees and lifted her hips, guiding her jeans and underwear down together as his eyes wandered all over her.

“For not coming with me.”

He shrugged and her heart clenched up tight. _Ow_. But her boyfriend didn’t look accusatory. In this moment, he didn’t even look upset. Ok, MJ was beginning to grasp his approach. This was how he wanted to get through this shitty day that had started with a date and decided to end with forcing them apart for an uncertain amount of time. They weren’t mad at each other, but they were furious at the circumstance. Venting sex; she could do that.

Peter removed her clothes all the way, even her socks, and as he leaned back over her, her hand went straight for his dick, plunging into his boxers to wrap around him. His eyes closed instantly and she sensed his peace like a stab wound. So fucking impermanent. MJ cocked her head at him as his eyes slowly opened again. They looked darker in the dim room, what light there was coming from behind him. She rotated her wrist, fingers flexing on his length.

“You never asked me to,” she coyly pointed out.

He fell onto her with startling speed, tongue against her tongue before their lips sealed together. One of Peter’s hands wedging under her hips, his other hand shoving his boxers out of the way. She used his cock as a tool, swiping it through her wetness and skimming it up to her clit, where she stroked him against her until he was twitching in her palm and a short cry escaped her―her pleasure a match ready to be struck.

Foreheads together, they glanced between their bodies to witness him nudge, then push, inside her. _Jesus_. MJ’s head fell back to the carpet with a _thunk_ , her eyes frantically roaming the ceiling as she coped with the pleasure of the first stretch of him. Peter dipped his head to kiss uneven lines across her collarbones, thrusts deceptively shallow and controlled. She ran her hands up his hips and along his taut sides. No ticklish reaction. She reached around to trace his shoulder blades and feel the tense line of his spine. Nothing. Finally, MJ dug her fingers into her boyfriend’s hair and pulled; his hips snapped to hers as he exhaled too hard against her neck. There it was. There _he_ was. Peter tucked her into his arms and drilled ahead with his hips. She remembered their sunny afternoon at Cedar Point. _Keep your arms and legs inside the ride at all times_.

She hooked her thighs over his hips.

“Come on, Spider-Man,” MJ demanded harshly, going right for the thing that had caused this. This current mess, this relationship that she believed in so ferociously.

Peter pounded forward, forehead crumpled in concentration. He pushed up onto his hands and his thrusts gained power―she was glad for the secure hold she had on him, squeezing her thighs. With one hand still clutching his hair, MJ slid the other one down her body under Peter’s starving gaze, bravely meeting his eyes when he darted a look at her like he was asking permission to watch her like this, as if she wasn’t _offering_ this to him. His one last good look, as it were. _Fuck_ that. She felt out her clit amongst the growing sloppiness from their hasty joining and moaned. Peter’s eyes rolled back at the sight of her touching herself.

“How long for you to get close?” he panted.

He’d slowed down, distracted by observing her (MJ knew how _that_ went), but her boyfriend was picking up the pace again. This was never going to be an extended session of lovemaking, there wasn’t time for that. All they could do was make it good―check―and make it mean something.

“Getting there,” she huffed back, rocking her hips with his and scrubbing her fingers across her clit.

Peter rolled his hips into hers and she gasped at the way it prodded her g-spot.

“OK,” MJ corrected breathlessly, “getting there a little faster now.”

“Perfect.”

He did it again, then, probably feeling her fingers flying as she stroked herself towards bliss, switched to driving strokes that actually shoved her across the floor a few inches―strokes that were going to give her rug burn on her ass if this went on too long. Though it didn’t seem like it was going to. MJ didn’t care. Her eyes shut and her head twisted back and forth to blindly chase sensation. That stopped when Peter grabbed her jaw and kissed her hard, his other hand gripping her hip.

“ _Come to the compound with me_ ,” he rasped against her lips, plunging demandingly inside of her.

MJ let out a cry. She moved her hand away from her clit and abruptly opened her eyes to find her boyfriend staring intensely down at her.

“ _Stay_ ,” she countered.

He thrust close enough to grind against her and MJ orgasmed, shaking and clutching the back of Peter’s neck, prickly near his hairline where his hair had just been cut.

“Love you,” he mumbled as she pulled his face down to her chest, over her racing heart. “Love you so much.”

Peter’s hips jerked spastically and he pushed deep on his final thrust, holding himself all the way inside her until he breathed again. His arms folded down, letting some of his weight rest on top of her. MJ was still processing what they’d asked of each other. The feelings were true, no question, but they were both wiser than that, more pragmatic when it came down to it. After kissing across her skin and once on the black dahlia that had slipped into the hollow of her throat, he began to withdraw. She didn’t let herself take the childish step of hanging on and simply refusing to let go. Denial wouldn’t solve this one.

MJ got dressed while Peter yanked his jeans up and took the condom to the bathroom garbage can, apologizing over his shoulder for the trash and the fact that she’d be the one left to take it out.

“It’s fine,” she promised.

And that part was. Other things were less fine and her reasons for being able to put her clothes back on, but not get up off the floor. She sat with her back against the couch, knees bent and arms crossed on top, until Peter returned to haul her up with a faintly wounded smile. MJ let her boyfriend raise her to standing, then flopped back onto the couch. It was a step up from the ground.

“I don’t know if there’s a right way to have this conversation,” Peter started, scratching nervously at the back of his head.

She held up a hand to halt him.

“Shut up. Sit down.”

“Sorry,” he said, scrambling around her to throw himself onto the couch at her side. “I didn’t mean to tower over you and be all patronizing.”

MJ snorted and eyed her boyfriend. _Fuck it_ , she thought, and wriggled close to him.

“I wouldn’t exactly saying you were _towering_ ,” she gently corrected, “but it wasn’t about that. I just wanted...”

More _unwilling_ to communicate her need to curl into Peter than unable to, MJ trailed off and let her head fall heavily on his chest.

“Get on with the menacing conversation.”

“You know what I’m going to say, don’t you?”

“Yep.”

“Is that a definite ‘yep’ or a sixty-seven-percent-sure ‘yep’?”

She lifted her head and narrowed her eyes at him.

“Stop trying to make me laugh while you’re dumping me.”

“I’m not dumping you!” Peter protested.

“Of course you are, and if you’re not, then I’m dumping _you_.” She considered this. “And you know what? I _should_ be the one dumping you. Do you know how stressful Europe was for me with you running all over the place like that?”

“Stressful for _you_? I got hit by a _train_! You’re... wait...” He gave her an assessing look. “You’re joking.”

MJ smiled, then sighed.

“But not about breaking up. That is the point you were very slowly getting to, isn’t it?”

“Not for real though, right?” Peter looked frantic.

“Obviously not for real. I just know you and your self-sacrificing ways. If we don’t fake-break up, you’ll actually try to dump me.”

“If I had to. It wouldn’t be ideal though,” he said as she laid her head back on his chest. “You’d put up even more of a fight.”

“I’d raise hell,” she agreed, listening to his heartbeat.

They sat for a few minutes and MJ closed her eyes to avoid looking around at all the things that were missing from the room. The Parkers had packed the essentials―which to MJ would’ve been clothes, passport, tampons, deodorant, done, but to May included things like her favourite decorative pillows and the assortment of lunches she’d made ahead and stacked in the fridge in neat plastic containers. It was too sad. MJ had finally learned how to open herself up to possibilities and life smacked her in the back of the knees with change. Typical.

“I was just thinking,” Peter started shyly, “that I was kind of rough before and I’m s―”

“If I hear you say the word ‘sorry,’ I will auction off all of your remaining possessions to rabid Spider-Man fans.”

“That would suck.”

“I know. So zip it, dork.”

Peter sighed, making her human pillow inflate and fall.

“We better get up.”

“I hate how much you’re right today.”

He kissed her temple.

“When you come visit me at the compound, I’ll be wrong about everything. I’ll be such a moron.”

“You know all those love poems Petrarch wrote about Laura?”

“Not really.”

“Well, he had nothing on you.”

They rose and MJ moved quickly away before the nerd could do something horrible like hug her. Peter yanked his shirt on, then froze.

“Happy’s coming.”

“Happy’s coming? Happy should be halfway to the compound by now.”

“Well, Happy either came back _or_ Happy’s clone just walked into my apartment building and we’ve got a completely different problem.”

She blinked at him.

“You are so lame.”

“Yeah, and you have sex hair, so, you know...” Her boyfriend made spastic gestures that she assumed meant _straighten yourself up_.

MJ fixed her ponytail and glared at Peter when there was a knock on the door.

“Nice early warning system,” she said sarcastically.

“I was a little distracted by our fake breakup!”

He bounded to the door and let Happy in quickly.

“Don’t say the thing about the clone,” MJ warned.

“What’s the thing about the clone?” Happy wondered. She just shook her head at him and he turned to Peter. The slump of his shoulders screamed: FOMO. “I know you didn’t think you’d be seeing me again, but it’s for your aunt’s peace of mind. She didn’t want you to have to come all the way out on your own.”

“I’ve made the trip lots of times,” Peter reminded him.

“I know, but cut her some slack today, ok? We intercepted with the other car and lost very little time. So.” He clapped his hands together. “I’m here, it’s outside. Let’s roll.” Happy straightened up and glanced suspiciously between them. “Why are you two so sweaty?”

“Packing boxes,” Peter said quickly. “Remember?”

Happy looked even _more_ suspicious. MJ backed her boyfriend up.

“You would not believe the tedium of wrapping each of that nerd’s―” She jerked a thumb in Peter’s direction. “―action figures in socks.”

“Socks?” Happy checked.

“You want me to apologize for not going out to get bubble wrap?” MJ challenged. “I thought we were tight on time.”

“Right.”

Happy jumped into action, turning to the last of the boxes that he and Peter would be taking to the compound. He yanked a sweatshirt out of one and threw it at Peter.

“Hood up,” he instructed with a warning finger.

They repeated the ritual of lugging the boxes to the elevator, though these were lighter. Maybe it was just MJ’s insides that were heavier. After the second and final trip, Peter let out a shaky breath and handed her the apartment keys, just in case.

“Please make it quick,” Happy muttered, staring pointedly at the elevator’s ceiling.

Peter grabbed MJ’s arms and pulled her into him.

“We’ll figure it out,” he said, lips almost touching her ear as he echoed her words. Pretty unoriginal of him, but still, MJ’s heart was seizing, trying to climb up her throat.

She nodded and swiftly kissed her boyfriend’s cheek. Going for his mouth would kill her. His hand clutched hers as she stepped back, their eyes locked on one another.

“Love you,” she blurted at the last second.

The door slid shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where _Affinity War_ was four Peter chapters followed by an MJ chapter, _Boyfri(endgame)_ will be the opposite: this is MJ's story, but every fifth chapter, Peter can have a little POV, as a treat.
> 
> I'm aiming for an update every Saturday! Next up: MJ goes home, begins to contemplate some possible consequences of what's happened, and has others forced upon her...


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy belated Valentine's Day! As some of you predicted after last chapter, there's going to be a wee bit more angst to get through before we're back to _Spideychelle, Together At Last_ goodness. Luckily, MJ has her mom to help her through it. I say "June," you say "Jones"?
> 
> JUNE!
> 
> *cups hand to ear*

III

Home was supposed to be relief, but it was confusion instead.

“What are you doing here?” MJ asked her mom when she walked in to see her sitting in the kitchen. June’s posture was tense, her hospital shoes still on, her hands clasped tightly together. Eyes fixed on her daughter.

“Did I never tell you we have technology at the hospital? Oh yeah. We can take x-rays, microwave our sad lunches, catch the news bulletin about Spider-Man being that same kid you’re dating. We still bleed people with leeches, but that’s just for fun.”

“You came home because you thought I’d be in danger,” MJ comprehended, sinking into a chair across from her mother.

“Looks like my daughter is still a genius! She just happens to also be my greatest risk for a heart attack because she _does not check her phone_.”

MJ winced as her mother glared at her. She didn’t even want to know how many missed calls her phone would display when she turned it back on.

“We were just trying to be careful until we had a plan, until we knew what was happening.”

“I would’ve liked to know that too! What was happening.”

“I’m sorry. Mom, I’m sorry.”

MJ glanced down at the kitchen table for a second and all of her sadness pooled in her eyes. A tear hit the table between her hands. Her mom made an _oh_ sound, then there was a quick scrape and she was crouching next to MJ, hugging her awkwardly but desperately.

“What happened, Michelle?” June asked softly, rubbing large circles on MJ’s back.

“We broke up,” she choked out. “Not f-f-f-for real, but―” She was gasping, unable to speak for the sobs that controlled her tongue.

“That’s ok, that’s ok,” her mom promised. “You can explain the finer points later. Ugh,” she said, hauling MJ to her feet, “don’t make me carry you, my back can’t take it.”

MJ let out a loose laugh through her hiccupping crying.

“You wanna watch a movie?” June asked, switching the TV on as she led her daughter to the living room couch. “Take a nap?”

It wasn’t late, but as soon as her mom said that, MJ felt so tired. So much rushing, so many boxes. And before that, her first time swinging through the city wrapped around Peter―that maniac. It wasn’t just sadness that had wrung her out; there was the aftermath of a huge adrenaline spike too.

“Maybe a nap,” she said. She shifted to lie on her side and drew a pillow under her head. Closed her blurry eyes. “But leave the TV on low.”

“Yes, ma’am,” her mother joked softly.

MJ felt a hand on her hair, smoothing it away from her forehead, before June’s footsteps retreated to the kitchen. With the faint sounds of a talk show in her ears to scramble her thoughts, MJ rolled over to face the back of the couch. She wiped her nose with the back of her hand. Sleep didn’t take long.

She woke up to a wet patch under her face. Drool. Well, at least unconsciousness had dammed the flow of her tears. Sitting up, MJ let the pillow she’d snuck her hand under in sleep flop over the damp spot. It would take more grief than this for her mom to forgive drool on her ‘good couch’ (her only couch).

Her phone was on the table, though she couldn’t remember setting it down. When she checked it, she found she’d slept for about an hour. No dreams though. She also found a text from Peter; he’d sent her a picture of the new apartment he and May would be sharing at the Upstate compound and captioned the sparse space ‘home sweet home.’ MJ’s smile was still heavy, but she would work on that. She texted her boyfriend back.

_What happened to your old room?_

_Oh, you mean the one where we..._

MJ rolled her eyes. This was a nice surprise though―she hadn’t known if he’d be too busy to text her back right away.

_Where you honestly thought I would buy that Tony Stark had left some priceless new invention in your dresser drawer. Yeah, that room. One day, I will see those Spidey jammies in person._

Damn, as soon as she said it, she felt sad again. It was a reminder that they wouldn’t be heading to the compound together for teasing Tony Stark and making out and other assorted hijinks. Peter _lived_ there now and though it was summer, MJ knew she couldn’t constantly be bouncing between Queens and Upstate. She’d wear herself down. Someone might figure out they were still seeing each other. It was healthier to keep having a life that Peter was only a part of instead of the sun she orbited around.

_I’ll keep them clean and ironed just for you._

_Will you be able to manage that?_

_Come on, MJ, I’m not that hopeless._

_No, I know._ She sighed.

_Are you ok?_

MJ stared at her screen. She knew she would be ok, and that wallowing in the sadness, especially with Peter wouldn’t help her get past it.

 _Sure_ , she texted, _why?_

_Well, I’m kinda supposed to get going now. Just to help May unpack and then Mr. Stark wants to talk or something. But I didn’t want to go until you were ok._

Fuck, she just wanted to _hug_ him.

_Can confirm. My mom’s trying to over-mom me, so I might go for a walk, maybe see if Cindy’s around._

_Ok. Be careful._

_Dork, I’m not the suspected murderer on the loose. Nobody knows who I am._

_Be careful anyway._

It was sweet, but she snorted.

_I promise to look both ways before crossing the street._

_Good. I’ll talk to you soon. Love you._

_Love you._

The promises she made to Peter were dangerously binding, the thought of not keeping them filled her mind with his disappointed eyes. Now that she’d said she was going out, she’d have to go out and reschedule the living room breakdown. She patted the pillow concealing her drool. _Farewell, couch of misery_ , she thought.

On instinct, she crept carefully around the apartment. Peering into her mom’s room, she saw that June was in bed, enjoying a nap on her unprecedented day off. Well, it would just be wrong to disturb that. Also, the chances of her mom forbidding her from leaving were pretty high, but June always overreacted when it came to MJ’s safety. Her mom didn’t know how much she could handle and going for a walk was no Fire Monster Battle of Prague. If MJ left a note―a nice, large, easy-to-find note―stating what she was doing and that she’d be back soon, she’d have fulfilled her daughterly duties. If she returned before her mom woke up, then she’d destroy the note and no one would be the wiser. Why make her mom worry?

MJ composed and positioned her note in the middle of the kitchen table, then gathered her keys and jacket, slipping from the apartment.

Instead of taking the elevator, she bounded down the stairs, letting her legs kick out loosely in front of her. It was a weird kind of freedom to be a young, single girl in New York, but also the secret, occasionally mace-wielding girlfriend of an Avenger. Hell yeah. She was in a position of strength, not weakness or remorse or regret. She had everything, she even had Peter, and it definitely wouldn’t be long until she had him in person again too. As much as she liked to chip away at his overinflated ego, she recognized that Tony Stark would work tirelessly to get to the bottom of this so that Peter could return to Queens. And to her.

What would she be without Peter at her side? Nothing she hadn’t been before. Only the people she went to school with would know, and for them, MJ’s small-time celebrity would peak today, then gradually fall in the absence of Spider-Man in the flesh. She’d grow closer and closer to invisible and her friends and teammates would forget to care that she used to be Spider-Man’s girlfriend. Then, however it happened, Peter would be back with them―either exonerated of Mysterio’s murder or distanced from the red suit―and the two of them could be a regular high school couple, whose relationship no one outside of it gave a fuck about.

She didn’t care about the suit. She’d take the boy.

With a little too much determination, MJ pushed the door at the bottom of the stairwell open and almost knocked into someone coming the other way. She apologized to her elderly neighbour from down the hall, held the door, and was just getting her equilibrium back when someone grabbed her arm in a commanding grip.

“Don’t struggle. You’re coming with me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wuh-oh. Intruder alert! Next chapter, we'll find out who's grabbed MJ and why... (But I'm open to hearing your guesses until then if you've got 'em!)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *game show announcer voice* LET'S FIND OUT WHO'S BEHIND CLIFFHANGER NUMBER ONE!

IV

When she noticed it was Natasha Romanoff―the Black Widow―gripping her by the upper arm, MJ wasn’t sure whether to feel more or less afraid.

“I didn’t―” she started, but Romanoff cut her off.

“Quiet until we’re secure,” she instructed.

She pulled MJ to the front doors of the building, nearly pressing her cheek to the glass to glance up and down the stretch of sidewalk visible from that angle, then eased the door open and dragged MJ along, tight to her side. Their destination? A... crêpe truck parked at the curb.

Romanoff guided MJ straight to the rear door, hauled it open, and had them both inside with the locking mechanism slid into place in under 30 seconds. MJ raised her eyebrows in question. The Avenger leaned back against the small counter space, crossed her arms, and nodded in confirmation.

“I _swear_ I’m not the one who leaked that video,” MJ rushed out. “You can, you can search my phone, my laptop, whatever, and verify that I was never in possession of the Mysterio footage. I never met him, I’d never even _heard_ of him until Venice. And motive?” she asked rhetorically, rambling in the face of Romanoff’s unreadable stare. “I love Peter. Much to my embarrassment as a person used to being overly private with their emotions, my feelings for Peter are actually a well-known fact. I obviously don’t want him dead. I’m sleeping with him,” MJ added. It was kneejerk, but if it saved her from a brutal, drawn-out interrogation by Black Widow, she’d get over the mortification that she was sure to feel sooner rather than later.

“Alright, you can stop there.” Romanoff read her face (she _thought_ ). “And stop worrying that I’m here to torture you.” Abruptly, disarmingly, she offered MJ a smile. MJ exhaled a shaky breath in relief. “I thought you might need some help. Tony and those guys have Peter covered, but I want you to know I have your back. I won’t leave you to fend for yourself. Not if this gets nasty and not before.”

Lowering her chin, MJ found herself directing nervous eyes towards her... own personal Avenger?

“How might this get nasty?”

“Well,” Romanoff said with a shrug, “you were a target in an attempted drone strike in London, so that’s one thing we’re going to want to avoid.”

“Yeah, that sounds good,” she agreed. She was maybe freaking out a little, and also feeling like an idiot for not being more concerned about herself. Dammit, Michelle Jones was not just Spider-Man’s girlfriend! She was her own person, with her own history of attempts on her life! “Don’t have my mace,” she reflected aloud.

It was a delirious thought, randomly selected from the thousands suddenly swirling through her mind like fluff inside a cotton candy machine. She actually wasn’t entirely sure she’d said it, or that she hadn’t imagined Romanoff’s response of, “I can make a call.”

“Let’s talk about your game plan,” was the first thing MJ was certain the woman said.

“Right, my game plan.”

“We’re going to have to coordinate with the compound when they determine the exact statement they’ll be issuing. Tony will already have one ready, of course, but he’ll be waiting for Peter’s approval before it’s released.”

“He’ll already have a statement ready that addresses this situation? Peter’s identity being revealed without his consent?”

“Tony likes to be prepared for eventualities. And of all the possible incidents, the kid having his real name leaked was one of the more likely.” Romanoff offered a wry look that MJ understood to be a substitute for a smile. “Superheroes and secrecy don’t mix. Peter’s been lucky so far.”

“I guess so,” she realized, thinking of all the times her boyfriend had been less than careful discussing Spidey stuff or whipping off the mask.

“Whatever they go with doesn’t matter for you right now.”

“It doesn’t?”

“No. Your job is much more important.” Romanoff locked eyes with her and MJ believed it. She nodded. “You need to make sure people buy that you and Peter are no longer linked. Not the press, not the fan sites, just people you know. Security breaches always start small. You need to let your friends know about your breakup as soon as possible.”

Uncomfortable, MJ made a face.

“I’m not really the type to cry on a friend’s shoulder.”

“You are now. Say that it was because you found out he’s Spider-Man, say that it happened before the story broke―either way, it’s a clean break. Word of lingering feelings means a higher chance of Peter trying to protect you, which means your value as a target, as leverage, increases.”

“Clean break. Got it.”

Obviously, MJ’s face showed Romanoff something that didn’t align with the compliance of her words.

“Here,” the Avenger said, pulling a sleek black phone from her back pocket and offering it to MJ. “You contact Peter on _this_.”

“I thought...” she began, taking the phone and staring at her reflection in the screen.

“Let’s just say I’m sympathetic to complicated relationships. And,” she added, “I know that telling you not to talk to each other will only make you want to do it more. I’d rather the two of you didn’t do something stupid.”

MJ opted to nod rather than point out that, of the two of them, Peter was far more likely to be responsible for doing something stupid.

“Thanks,” she said, slipping the phone into her pocket.

Abruptly, there was a bang against the side of the truck and Romanoff had a handgun drawn. MJ froze.

“CAN I GET A CRÊPE?” a man outside yelled.

MJ rolled her eyes and relaxed before the Avenger did, but she spotted Romanoff glancing at her wrist. She’d probably placed cameras on the outside of the truck, MJ figured. Shit, could something as innocent as a guy looking for fast food (aggressively, it was true, but that was all too common) be a disguise for an attack? Probably. It would be hard not to get overly paranoid now.

After the surveillance check, Romanoff’s weapon disappeared.

“WE’RE ALL OUT,” she shouted back in a heavy Brooklyn accent.

They both strained, listening, but there weren’t any additional disturbances.

“My number’s not in there,” Romanoff said, gesturing to where MJ’d stored the phone. “Nothing personal, but I’ll be keeping tabs, making contact if necessary.”

“Ok, cool.” _Really_ cool.

Romanoff leaned back. Crossed her arms.

“This was the first and last time you start a conversation by saying you’re in love with the person I’m helping you distance yourself from.”

“Yeah,” MJ agreed, wincing.

The woman across from her nodded sharply.

“Good. Now, I’d tell you not to go anywhere alone, but anyone interested in targeting Spider-Man’s girlfriend―”

“Ex-girlfriend.”

“Atta girl. Spider-Man’s _ex_ -girlfriend, won’t be deterred by any of your friends. You might be less conspicuous alone, so enjoy that while it lasts. Stay low for a few days though,” Romanoff instructed, “spread the word of your breakup, and try to act... normal.”

“Alright. Normal... how?”

“Like you really did sever all ties when you found out your boyfriend was an Avenger and accused murderer. You know, like a sane person would.”

The slight, snide smile she let MJ see made it clear she didn’t consider the two of them part of that group. In the context, that seemed fair to MJ.

Romanoff straightened up, so MJ did too. It looked like a dismissal, but she wanted to be sure.

“Is that it?”

“Unless you want a crêpe for the road.”

“Ha. Good one.”

Her new super-secret guardian ushered her back into the lobby, telling MJ to go straight up to her apartment and start working on handling things from her end. With a last, reassuring look from Romanoff, MJ flew up the stairs and hurried home. She breathed hard against her apartment door when she closed it behind her. Crumpling the note she’d left for her mom, MJ strode to the living room window. Down below, a food truck swung out into the street and drove away.

She’d check with Ned first. God, _Ned_. Hopefully Stark would send someone to brief-slash-silence Ned too because he’d probably been trying to reach Peter while they had their phones off, just like her mom had been trying to reach her. Ned did put in a lot of time mothering. MJ really hoped her boyfriend had got in touch to soothe some of his best friend’s fears. Romanoff had given her the phone specifically for contacting Peter, but she didn’t want to abuse the privilege by overusing it for nonemergency texts. Although, an urgent-only rule had never been stipulated. Maybe she really could use it for regular shit―like sending Peter the latest conspiracy theories about the Elementals (even stranger than the truth, somehow). Right now, she could make do without it, give her boyfriend a chance to contact Ned and then check with him directly.

Anyway, people picked sides when a couple broke up, didn’t they? At least initially? MJ could focus on _her_ friends. Or, at least, the people she thought would be more loyal to her than to Peter if she and Peter really did break up, since there wasn’t anybody in their circle who she felt was exclusively _hers_ to lay claim to. God, this was already so complicated and she hadn’t even started! Ok, ok, who did that leave her? She would call Cindy. Unless she texted her instead. Texting was more MJ’s style―when given the option, distance was always preferable―and she didn’t think she’d be able to work up the sorrow necessary to come across appropriately heartbroken over the phone. Of course, she was heartbroken, but she couldn’t both lie to her friend and let her emotional innards hang out on the same call. Come on. The main thing was to communicate the breakup.

Though MJ had turned her phone back on to text Peter, she’d left it on silent. Now, she found that Cindy had texted her first, freaking out about Peter being Spider-Man. She took a minute to scroll through the numerous panicked texts. MJ would skip addressing the larger situation for now; Black Widow _had_ emphasized that she was their woman on the ground for word of mouth. With Cindy, her best bet would be getting right to the point.

 _We broke up_ , she tapped out, leaning against the living room window.

Suddenly, her head jerked up. What if someone was watching the apartment, the way Romanoff had evidently been? Heart racing, MJ took careful steps over to the couch and perched on the arm.

 _You and Spider-Man???_ Cindy responded.

Hmm... Did they split before or after the news broke? Before or after? Before or after?

 _Well, he was still Peter at the time_ , MJ wrote back, nodding along with her own decision. _I mean, I guess he was both, but we were in the middle of breaking up when the Bugle showed the footage._

_That’s heavy._

_Quit watching Back to the Future._

_Can’t. Doc Brown is my hero. But speaking of heroes, how did that affect the proceedings??_

Cindy had lost her.

 _Wdym?_ MJ wondered.

_Hello! Finding out that Peter’s actually Spider-Man!_

_Well, he’s still actually Peter_ , MJ typed, then, with a sigh, deleted. She couldn’t be too sympathetic about him yet. She tried again: _It’s a big secret to keep._

There! Generic and true! She was simply excluding the part where it hadn’t been a secret from her, not for a long while now.

_Trust issues. I feel you._

Job done, right? MJ thought so. Time to redirect so she wouldn’t have to talk about her feelings.

 _Did you experience anything like that with Ned?_ she asked.

Cindy didn’t reply right away and without her messages, MJ got antsy. Tapping her foot on the floor, she pulled up news site after news site. All of them either said ‘PETER PARKER IS SPIDER-MAN’ or ‘SPIDER-MAN A KILLER?’ Surprise, surprise, it didn’t relax her.

_No, Ned and I just weren’t really right._

That was the kind of answer she’d expected Cindy to give. Why had it taken her friend so long to say it? Well, MJ didn’t really know what a real breakup was like. ( _Keep telling yourself that_ , the ache around her heart challenged.) Maybe it wasn’t something to spring on someone for the sake of directing attention away from herself.

 _I just meant I can generally relate_ , Cindy continued. And then the dots, telling MJ her friend was typing her a freaking paragraph. _Some things should be shared, but at the same time, you need to feel really ready to share them, you know? Which obviously Peter should’ve felt and he messed up not telling you, because I know you guys were at that stage, which is why it’s so shocking to me that you did break up. First and foremost, I’m deeply saddened. Did I say that? MJ, I so should’ve said that first. I’m sorry and I hope you’re doing ok. Second, I don’t think Peter’s a murderer._

 _Dammit_ , MJ thought, as her friend made her tear up. Even Romanoff hadn’t come right out and said as much. It’d been implied, sure, but today, Cindy’s words of support were just as good to her as the protection of an Avenger.

 _You’re too good a judge of character_ , Cindy sent next. _I know you’re into that stuff, murders, but there’s a difference between having a hobby and actually banging a cold-blooded killer. Questioning Peter would mean questioning you and I can’t do that._

_Thank you._

_I do, however, think he’s a real asswipe for not telling you about the Spider-Man thing._

MJ laughed, blinking the wetness out of her vision.

 _Tell me what I can do_ , Cindy requested, changing gears.

 _I think I just need to process this for now_ , she replied carefully. _But maybe movie day tomorrow? If you have time?_

_Yep. Hugs._

MJ tossed her phone towards the other end of the couch and blew out a heavy breath. One down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the many guesses on the identity of Grabby McKidnapper last chapter!! I'm gonna say Theslytherinterran was the closest, guessing "a spy." (Eowima, you're runner-up for guessing Barton - close!) As always, fantastic to receive kind comments, guesses or no guesses!
> 
> Next chapter's the first Peter POV chapter! Woo! We'll see what life's been like at the compound, including an embarrassing conversation with a certain mentor... Aw yeah, baby. _Tony Stark has entered the chat._


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leap Day! Fun fact: this is the first time I've posted anything during a Leap Year, let alone on Leap Day! I hadn't started writing yet last time we had one. And it's a Peter chapter! Does anybody else hear that?? Sounds like... the planets aligning? (Even Pluto; scoot in there, bud. Everybody loves you the most.)
> 
> Also, quick! What should our protocol be for endnotes before E-rated chapters that are sexual but don't involve sexual acts between Peter and MJ?

V

This plan had seemed a lot more bearable when the possibility of seeing MJ whenever he wanted had been part of the package. Now, not only was Peter exiled (he’d used the word out loud once since he got here and Mr. Stark had, pretty hypocritically, called him dramatic), he was also doing summer school. He and May had talked it over months ago because, while he’d managed to maintain strong grades while fighting neighbourhood crime, they’d slipped a little from missing key tests that not all of his teachers were keen to give him makeup assignments for. It wasn’t his fault that Thanos had bad timing! Peter had suggested to his aunt that the school should reconsider giving him some kind of makeup test now that they knew he was Spider-Man; finally, he could use that excellent ‘sorry, Sir, I was off-planet’ excuse he’d always fantasized about. She had countered that he was lucky the school was choosing not to discriminate against accused murderers and letting him stay enrolled. Yeah, he guessed she had a point.

So, he was going through with it. Instead of retaking any of the classes he’d already done, he was taking next year’s English course. The idea was, if some other calamitous event occurred during the upcoming school year (assuming he was back in school by then and not in, you know, prison) and fucked up his attendance, he’d have the grade he’d earned in the summer to fall back on. Peter had chosen English because it wasn’t his strongest subject―and because, again, he’d been anticipating working his way through the syllabus with his girlfriend at his side to offer insight about the reading material and potentially withering but ultimately constructive criticism of his essays. His English homework always took the longest to do because it required skills that didn’t come naturally, plus he had to read books and plays on top of that. Science and math? Easy. He just worked through those start to finish. There was no way to speed up English, so taking it as a solo course over the summer, when he’d have the most time to devote to it, made a lot of sense.

Peter kept reminding himself of that―that this decision made a lot of sense, that a good grade would help his average on his transcripts when he started applying to colleges―as he signed into the website. One of the million great things about the compound was a perfect internet connection.

The class didn’t start until after the weekend, giving Mr. Stark time to rush order the books Peter had meant to buy, but he was supposed to introduce himself to his fellow distance learners today. Apparently, it didn’t count towards his participation grade, but he really couldn’t afford to take any chances. When whoever else was in this class recognized the name ‘Peter Parker,’ things would be rough enough. Thankfully, summer school was school board-wide, so his classmates wouldn’t necessarily be members of the Midtown student body.

Pepper had effectively postered the internet with a statement signed ‘Iron Man’ (and below that, only slightly smaller, ‘Tony Stark’). The release sidestepped the Spider-Man component for now, concentrating on Peter Parker, former intern. Conveniently, it didn’t mention that Peter was currently holed up and claiming sanctuary under Tony Stark’s roof. What it did do was treat Peter’s innocence as fact and, though it couldn’t definitively disprove the accusation of murder, promised that proof would follow. Maybe the weight of Tony’s name would hold off the angry mobs long enough for Peter to get through a group project or two.

It looked like a couple of people had already posted short paragraphs about themselves. He scanned through them. Name, what they were looking forward to in the course, a couple of real interests when the supposed enthusiasm for summer school started to stretch thin. That appeared to be the general format and he was happy to go with that.

Peter typed his full name, then backspaced the ‘Parker.’ Just when he thought he could get away with being Peter Who Liked _Star Wars_ , he realized his system-issued designation showed up at the top of his post, labelling him ‘pparker11.’ Great.

He wrote a couple of rapid sentences to summarize the rest. For obvious reasons, he was careful to emphasize that he was more interested in reading Emily Dickinson’s poetry than Shakespeare’s _Macbeth_ ―the story of a guy who started murdering people and couldn’t stop (that was Peter’s general grasp of it without having read the play yet). As for hobbies, he didn’t want to lean too heavily on anything _Star Wars_ -related, and he’d never rejoined the school groups he’d quit as a sophomore. With the ghost of MJ’s voice calling him a nerd, Peter wrote Academic Decathlon into his bio. There, he was trying. He clicked ‘Submit’ and saw his little paragraph pop up above the others.

What was he supposed to do now? Wait for the rest of his classmates to post theirs? Inevitably, someone would put it off to the last minute and Peter wasn’t hanging around until midnight on Sunday. And it wasn’t like he was really expected to interact with them, right? Like, comment on their bios to point out the interests they shared. That’d be creepy.

He spun in his chair as he thought, looking up at the flawless ceiling. It was a good ceiling, a good chair too. Rather than the dorm-sized room he used to stay in when he made overnight trips to the compound, Peter was now living in a larger suite with May. She’d insisted on the two of them living in the same quarters in order to preserve stability for him. He didn’t call her on the unspoken reason―that she wasn’t ready to move in with Happy. Happy didn’t live here full-time, but Mr. Stark had reserved him a space all the same, and it wasn’t a dorm-sized space either. There would’ve been room for May.

Peter didn’t know what was going on with them and he didn’t really want to think about it. He gave the webpage a final glance and elected to check back later.

“How’s this one coming, Mr. Stark?” Peter asked, walking into his mentor-slash-landlord’s workshop.

Tony turned, lifting his hands off his current project. Immediately, a wall of metal slid across with a _shick_ , colliding with the spot where his fingers had just been. Peter’s eyes widened. Glancing back at the place of near-amputation, Tony scratched his head with the business-end of a custom-engineered wrench.

“The defense mechanism needs a little work,” he allowed. “Don’t wanna Louis-the-Sixteenth the kid.”

Peter chose to nod rather than attempt a verbal response; his mentor’s jokes had taken on a dangerous dryness, he’d noticed, and he couldn’t see a right answer to this expression of Tony’s very real fear of accidentally guillotining his own child.

Although, apparently, this was him _relaxed_ about Pepper’s pregnancy. Pepper and Mr. Stark had broken the news that they were expecting when Peter and May moved into the compound a few days ago and though the announcement was a surprise, the fact that something had been distracting his mentor wasn’t. It was still early on and Pepper mentioned that there had been a scare and that Tony wouldn’t leave her side. In some ways, it was a relief to know that Iron Man’s absence in Europe while Peter was tackling the Elementals, and then Mysterio (fucking asshole), wasn’t some kind of test. Some trial-by-fire-monster. Because Peter really had felt a little abandoned over there, when his own body parts were at risk of being blazingly severed à la Anakin Skywalker. But he got it now. Even without the heartfelt sit-down Mr. Stark had given him, full of apology and explanation, Peter understood that nothing more than a threat to Stark Junior could keep Iron Man from coming to Spider-Man’s aid. Peter could deal with those priorities.

Actually, he was feeling increasingly protective towards the unborn kid himself. Pepper saw Mr. Stark’s single-minded commitment to designing everything the baby would need by hand as overkill; Peter saw it as making good use of the skills his mentor had honed over hundreds of technological innovations and iterations of his suit. This kid would have the best monitoring, the most intuitive, parent-friendly car seat, the best defense system... as soon as Mr. Stark worked out the kinks.

“That one has a nice look,” Peter finally offered. He pointed at one of the dozen cribs in the room (and these were just the ones Tony hadn’t scraped as ‘total losses’).

“Yeah,” his mentor agreed. He darted a look over, but Peter could see he was already back to thinking about his current mark. “The design was solid, but the built-in rocking function manifested as more of a seismic tremor. That one―” Without looking, Tony gestured to another model. “―got it down to a constant, low-level vibration, but god only knows what that would do to a kid. Nothing great.”

“Well, you have time.”

An affirmative grunt.

Not wanting to return to his computer just yet, Peter strolled through the workshop. He was careful not to touch anything because he wasn’t an idiot. Severe vibrations and metal plates that moved like vicious traps were just the flaws that he knew about. He’d offer to help Tony build one, but he knew this was a deeply personal project. Mr. Stark’s _kid_. It was a pretty incredible thought.

“What are you gonna name it? Uh, him or her. The baby.”

“Well,” Tony ground out, prying the crib open far enough that its programming kicked in and it retracted the sliding door on its own, “Pepper had this uncle who was quite the character, so his name’s a possibility.”

“That’s cool. I wonder if I’ll still be living here by then,” Peter thought aloud. He watched his mentor pull up a holographic schematic. “I could help, you know, babysit and stuff. Kids like me.”

“Uh huh. What about those two little girls in the tent you scared the living daylights out of?”

Peter groaned.

“The mask malfunctioned. That one’s on Spider-Man.”

Tony snorted and snapped his fingers until Peter looked over and caught his eye.

“In case you haven’t heard, you _are_ Spider-Man.”

“Then it’ll be good for me to get some practice with a kid while my mask’s off, right?”

“Practice? What is my infant, a guinea pig?”

“No, I didn’t mean―”

“You know, taking care of a newborn is a demanding job. Why do you need that much kid practice?”

“I don’t. I just thought I could be helpful, give you and Pepper a break when―”

“Now, I’m no Spider-Man, but I can’t imagine your average encounter with a child on the mean streets of Queens involves much more than a wave and/or a high-five. You’re talking about acquiring some serious childrearing skills. My god, Pete...”

“No,” Peter said quickly, suddenly aware of where his mentor was going with this. Tony’s mischievous smile gave the whole thing away. He reached out a cautioning arm, like he could stop the words from across the workshop. “Mr. Stark, no―”

“...you haven’t been _careless_ , have you?” Peter got that the teasing was happening only because Tony knew he would never be careless about this, but it was still embarrassing as hell. His face went up in flames. “Because I remember CondomGate―” Oh _god_ ―that was what he insisted on calling the bodega video from _ages_ ago. “―and that was a pretty big box. If you’ve gone through all of those already and then couldn’t keep your hands off each other long enough to go get more...” He trailed off to allow himself a gleefully scandalized expression. “Peter, Peter, Peter, little spiders _already_?”

“I’m going to my room,” he declared, mortified.

“Have fun in summer school!” Mr. Stark called after him.

Closing himself in their suite, Peter was glad May wasn’t home. (If ‘home’ was the suite, what was the compound? Their new neighbourhood?) He dropped into the chair in front of his computer. It had trickled down to him that MJ had been given a phone with a secure line to contact him and when she did call to ask what he’d been up to, he was _not_ including that conversation with Mr. Stark. Peter put his elbows on the desk, pulled the cuffs of his sweatshirt over hands, and groaned loudly into his covered fist. Overt references to the physical side of his and MJ’s relationship were yet another inhumane consequence inflicted by Mysterio’s jackass decision to expose his identity. Peter knew he shouldn’t have let it get to him―or, anyway, he shouldn’t have let it show. There would be suggestive little comments all the time now; if any were delivered in his aunt’s presence, he would have no choice but to strike out on his own, likely leading to his swift arrest, but honestly, incarceration seemed kind compared to every Avenger who passed through the compound hearing primarily false things about his sex life. Oh, that could still happen once Peter was behind bars, but at least he wouldn’t have to know about it.

School would be his distraction for now. Wasn’t it always? From the rougher patches of his family history, to grappling with his altered biology, to distracting himself from his crush on Liz, to eating up time until he could next see MJ, school was a reliable constant. He’d left his laptop open when he went to visit Mr. Stark’s workshop and the screen had gone black. Peter scrubbed his finger over the touchpad.

It looked like a couple more people had left their introductions, but his eye was drawn away from those, over to the menu along one side of the webpage. The ‘Inbox’ label had a red dot beside it that hadn’t been there before. Peter frowned. It was probably some sort of group message to the class. Maybe a start of term announcement from the teacher? A student submitting their bio in the wrong place? He clicked on it, replacing the forum page with his temporary summer school email account. There was nothing in the subject line and when Peter opened the email, all the body of it said was, “Well, well, well.” What the fuck? He checked the sender―‘fthompson47.’ Peter closed his eyes. Awesome.

Before he could delete the email, a new red dot appeared in the menu, next to ‘Messaging.’ There wasn’t enough luck in Peter’s life to make betting a good decision, so he’d have to stake the messenger’s identity on a strong feeling. Might as well get this over with.

_Whaddup, Penis? Saw you were online._

There was a way to see who was online? Peter was definitely locating that and turning it off before he logged out today. God, he wanted his girlfriend. He wanted MJ. Long summer days with her, holding her hand. Summer nights, holding her hips. Not this. Not being accused of murder and fleeing his home and fake-breaking-up with his girlfriend and having the one thing he was taking solace in―summer school, incredibly unfairly―invaded by the guy who was apparently going to keep calling him ‘Penis’ when the world was suddenly permitted (not by Peter!) to address him by the name of his alter ego! The universe had taken his life, added insult to injury, and now, on top of that, added Flash Thompson. He sighed. It took him a long few minutes to type back.

_Hey, Flash. Looks like we’re gonna be classmates._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Too slow! Endnotes happened.
> 
> Next chapter: Old habits die hard.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bye-bye to Parker-vision until chapter 10. We're back with MJ's POV! This one's a prime chapter for any angst-lovers in the house.

VI

Glaring at it, daring it to shoot off the side, MJ spun her phone on the surface of her bathtub book tray. Ok, the ‘book tray’ was an uncovered ironing board―the shitty one her mom hadn’t gotten rid of after buying a replacement because she was convinced that her daughter would be doing a lot more ironing in college than MJ actually planned to do. What was so wrong with wrinkles? She’d smooth them out with frequent sitting and lying down; these were necessary parts of the sedentary lifestyle MJ figured she’d cultivate alongside her disinterest in ironing her clothes.

The phone might not have really been her phone any more than the ironing board was a book tray, she wasn’t actually sure. Oh, she wasn’t about to look a gift-Widow in the mouth and try to hand the thing back, but she wasn’t certain about using the phone either. If only there were specific rules for its use instead of just, what? Her own judgement? MJ sighed. She continued to glare, but drew her arm back, folding it with her other one and sinking deeper into the water.

The problem was that she didn’t want to call Peter. It wasn’t a nice feeling and she was trying not to feel it, but she couldn’t change the fact that they had _kind of_ broken up and she was _kind of_ reacting to that occurrence in ways that movies, TV, music, and her own parents’ separation had taught her were typical. Taking long baths, for instance. (Speaking of, MJ raised her foot out of the water to nudge the tap and warm things up.) Also, wanting some time to think. Being nervous about her new spy phone (fine, regular phone given to her by a spy) was a pretty good excuse for not calling him though, she thought.

She might be feeling a little less angsty about it if this were another day of the week, but it was Saturday night, universally recognized as date night, and therefore the hardest night to experience a lack in the dorky, muscly, more-than-a-friend department. Maybe she could just send him one text. With a small splash, MJ extracted her hand from the water and reached over the side of the tub, wiping her fingers on the fluffy towel that was waiting for her if she ever managed to leave the toasty, womb-like comfort of her bath. Picking up the phone, however, the impulse instantly retreated. She was left to raise the phone to her head and use the corner of it to give her scalp a good scratch next to where she’d piled her hair up. _Fuck_.

The _new_ problem, she reflected, was that one text wasn’t going to solve it. Right now, at least, she was convinced that having nothing would be better for her than having such a tiny piece of him, snatched between the summer school books she knew he probably wasn’t reading and hanging out with all the superheroes he now had 24-hour access to. MJ had warmed to Tony Stark (though she wasn’t about to tell _him_ that) and she didn’t want to compete with him for her boyfriend’s time. She liked to think they were both too important to Peter for that.

Texting him a _what’s up?_ just wouldn’t cut it. That wouldn’t― _couldn’t_ ―replace one of their real Saturday nights. Those were supposed to be listening to how his heart sped up when they were watching a movie on the couch and she put her head on his chest. Or sitting on the counter in the Parkers’ kitchen, smiling while Peter did his best to make her dinner. Or using her Google Translate crash-course to speak broken Czech at the front desk of a Prague hotel, convincing them to give her a new key card because she’d ‘temporarily misplaced’ hers, then employing that key card to sneak into the room it opened (not hers, but Peter’s), and giving her boyfriend a surprise handjob with his back pressed to the hotel room wall because they couldn’t make it the extra four feet to the bed. _That_ was a Peter and MJ Saturday night. Even if she wanted to take her womanly independence in two hands and do any of that by herself, she couldn’t! She couldn’t listen to Peter’s heartbeat, she couldn’t cook an edible meal without setting off the smoke alarm. She _definitely_ couldn’t stroke an erect penis to completion, having no such appendage herself. Everything was impossible and she hated her boyfriend although she loved him and she was never getting out of this bathtub.

MJ set the phone back on the tray.

At school, she and Peter had been able to see each other every day, and on most weekends, once they started going out. The European vacay had added nights to their days until they’d spent hundreds of hours in a row in each other’s company (minus bathroom breaks, darting back to the rooms they’d actually been assigned so they wouldn’t be caught, and Peter kicking Elemental ass―or so they thought at the time). Sexting wasn’t something they’d really tried before, but the school trip had introduced MJ to a new level of comfort with her boyfriend that she hadn’t even realized could exist; it was one thing to get naked and roll around in the sheets, another to type out exactly what you wanted to do to another person and have them do to you _and_ know that the words would still be there the next time you checked your phone. She might be able to do that, _maybe_ , but not until she found out who else had access to her and Peter’s correspondence. A defeated sigh sent a ripple across the surface of her cooling water. Until then, MJ guessed she was back at square one: Peter-less and conflicted as fuck regarding what to do about it.

Unless.

She grabbed the phone again, setting it on the floor with care before shoving the tray away with considerably less care and scrambling out of the tub. The ironing board tilted and skidded on an angle while she was drying off, so MJ secured her towel around her chest, tucked the awkward, too-long tray under her arm, bent to pick up the phone, and marched purposefully out the bathroom door. (And then turned around, denting the wall with the ironing board, because she’d forgotten to drain the bath water.)

Here was the thing she’d realized and was now preparing to set in motion, back in her room, trading her towel for a t-shirt and sweats: if she could imagine all those things―Peter touching her, her touching Peter―she didn’t necessarily have to fire them off to him right away. She could preserve them for him. Ideas of the two of them together? Damn, that was what she did best.

MJ took the innocent-looking Night Pad from her shelf of notebooks. The phone went to her bedside table; the ironing board clattered to the floor. Her mom was home, watching TV in the living room, but MJ was often noisy when an idea struck and she stormed, hurricane-like, to her bedroom to get it down on paper. This wasn’t anything unusual.

Her wrinkly bath-fingers made it feel like she was holding onto the first pencil she selected with raisins, so MJ clattered around in her mug full of sketching implements and withdrew a three-sided pencil instead. The easier grip meant she held on with less pressure, making the texture less distracting, which was key when she was doing such important work. (Capturing Peter Parker’s naked form.) Still, she needed a warmup before she dove into something completely new, something sext-worthy―if she ever had the nerve to translate it into actual words.

Sitting on the edge of her bed, MJ unhurriedly turned the pages of the Night Pad, reflecting on past successes. Not just well-executed drawings, but the real-life sex they’d inspired. This sketchbook had ended up being a hell of a secret weapon in her ongoing mission to seduce her boyfriend. Since that first time she’d let him take a peek, whenever she showed him one of the drawings from this book, he wanted to replicate it. Sometimes, she had to remind herself that they hadn’t already put some of these positions into practice, seeing as she only ever drew herself and Peter. And he looked better and better all the time. His body was her favourite thing to study.

She practiced with his hands, hunting down the traces of tension in his fingers, the soft line of the back of his hand. Deciding he needed something to grasp with a grip like that, MJ stood and went to her mirror. The surface of the dresser it was attached it was a mess at the moment; assorted crap she’d packed for Europe and then just kind of dumped when she got back, too eager to leave the apartment again to spend time with Peter. At least she wasn’t changing for him―she’d been a bit of a slob before she’d ever been a girlfriend. She set the Night Pad on the uneven foundation of adaptors and moisturizers (yes, more than one―airplane air was dry as fuck) and kept it from sliding off by pushing her hips against it. Pencil clamped temporarily between her teeth, MJ lifted her t-shirt, flashing herself in the mirror. Her mom was good about knocking before entering her room, but taking her shirt all the way off felt too risky. She held the hem in place with her chin and, with her head awkwardly angled, picked up the sketchbook and darted her eyes from her reflection to the page, roughing in the curve of her breast beneath Peter’s keen fingers. By the time she was drawing her nipple peeking out between those fingers, MJ was warmed up in more ways than one. Her period had to be coming soon because a _drawing_ based on an _idea_ of her boyfriend’s hand was making her horny.

Letting her shirt fall back into place, she spun and strode to her bed, bouncing down and tucking her leg up under her. She flipped to a new page and very quickly, her hand flying, graphite smudging where she got a little reckless, there was Peter’s jaw, his throat, the shadow that was a hickey, but a hickey was so hard to get right in black and white. MJ flipped the page again. Here was Peter’s chest, where she wanted to dig her fingers in for real. And behind him? His densely muscled back, a reflection of it anyway, as if there were two of him. She barely noticed she was sketching him as if he was standing with his back to a mirror, the opposite of the way she stood to draw herself into their scenes. Oh, she took full ownership of creating them, but they were his too in another way, the way a playwright composes dialogue and an actor speaks it on stage. He was… he was her muse, wasn’t he? Something about that concept made her face hot as she continued.

A new page, a new approach. Her boyfriend in three-quarter view. One hip and MJ didn’t draw the other―this particular portrait would never show the narrow breadth that she knew them to be―because she’d moved on already, making her way inland on the continent of Peter’s body. The low, promising plane of his abdomen. Skipping down to the firm curve of the front of his thigh. Then, finally, filling in the region she’d left blank. She drew him erect and then she couldn’t stand it any longer, tossing the Night Pad aside, squirreling under the blankets, and stuffing her hand down the front of her sweatpants. _Dammit, Peter. Why do you have to be so far away?_

Once the level of her frustrated want butted up against her rational mind and she accepted that this was not going to happen slow and easy, MJ shoved her pants down her hips. Freed, she used both hands: one to keep herself spread and the other to slide her arousal up over her clit and rub it at a frantic pace. Feet flexed, teeth clenched, head back, she worked herself to the memory of Peter’s rough thrusts on the Parkers’ living room floor. Had they really done that? Had they done it so recently? Yes, and they would do it again, she promised herself. With another dip into her wetness, she scrubbed her clit under her fingertips until her wrist wanted to cramp, until tears escaped the corners of her eyes and got flattened into puddles by her eyelashes when her eyes squeezed shut. She came, gasping, “ _Peter_.”

After she’d pulled her sweats back up, but while she was still breathing hard, MJ rolled over onto her stomach and groaned into her pillow. It simply needed to be done. She checked the time on her non-secret phone and saw that it was barely 9:30pm.

Well, she’d tried two methods for the relaxation of body and mind and she was still fucking angry that her life involved pretending to be single and to not know her ‘ex’-boyfriend’s location. She didn’t see how the dumbass was ok to take summer school, but she guessed Stark had plenty of signal-scrambling preventative measures at the compound in case anyone nefarious attempted to track Peter through his remotely-submitted essays on Shakespeare.

Too agitated to join her mom in front of the TV and _way_ too agitated to turn in early, MJ elected to rage clean. There was no way that putting her surroundings in order could be counterintuitive to wanting to feel like things had been set right on the inside. She tided the surface of her dresser and lugged her hamper of dirty clothes down the hallway to their cramped-but-invaluable laundry room. She closed the Night Pad with care and slid it back onto the shelf, then picked through her pencils, sharpening all the dull ones. She returned the ironing board/bathtub book tray to its spot inside her closet and, while she was in there, lined up all the shoes she had along the bottom so the closet door would actually shut.

When the physical world was looking significantly more inhabitable, MJ braved the virtual one, checking something beyond texts from her friends and teammates for the first time since the Fake News (with capital letters because it was capital letter-bullshit) about Mysterio’s murder had come out. She wanted to wade in slowly in order to maintain the small amount of calm that had settled into her―surprisingly―as she’d cleaned her room, so she avoided Twitter and all news sites. Where else would be relatively harmless, she wondered as she thumbed, smirking, through Cindy’s recent likes on Instagram. There was a lot of young Ally Sheedy on there; obviously, _Back to the Future_ had been a gateway drug to an entire ‘80s movie binge.

It dawned on MJ that she could always play it ridiculously safe and check her email. During the summer, the only things that waited for her there would be newsletters about books and politics, and reminders for upcoming protests she’d digitally RSVPed to. If she got a whiff of anything Spider-Man-related from a subject line, she just wouldn’t click. Or, she might not even have any new emails. She logged in.

She did have one. Just one. It was from Mr. Harrington and the subject line said: EVENT REMINDER. _Ugh_ , MJ had forgotten she’d signed up for that, ‘signed up for’ in this instance meaning ‘mandatorily had to show up to because she was the captain of the Academic Decathlon team’. God, would extracurricular involvement never cease biting her in the ass? She opened and scanned through his email, deciding it didn’t require a response. She’d be there. Mr. Harrington couldn’t ask any more of her than that.

But if she was going to venture out in public, she’d need to check in with her ambassadors to the outside world first. She texted Cindy and Ned, asking if they’d spread the word of her and Peter’s breakup. In Cindy’s case, MJ had told her she didn’t want people reminding her of her ex by bringing him up. In Ned’s, she was able to tell the truth since, as Peter’s other best friend, he was in on everything. They both got back to her quickly, and both in the affirmative. Ned as far as to pass on his girlfriend’s condolences about the split; MJ could tell, even through text, that he felt guilty for keeping Betty out of the loop. None of them could help that this was need-to-know.

It seemed like she had no excuse. She’d try to summon up some school spirit for tomorrow, but, seeing as she’d never bought into the idea of loyalty as a transaction―exchanged for education on topics from a government-mandated curriculum and far, _far_ too much badminton―the outlook wasn’t good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Night Pad is basically a character, complete with its own "surprise, bitch" self-assurance. I hear it does car commercials. _In Japan_. (What's an _Affinity War_ sequel without a _Mean Girls_ reference in the author notes?)
> 
> Next time on _Survivor_ : MJ handles her Decathlon obligations like a champ (more or less) and sees a familiar face... Guesses? Not Natasha this time!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hunter139 and Lara and HiImMoral and seekrest and tvfanatic97 and Spideyfics and Eowima and Mike and Theslytherinterran! Thanks, you guys! A lotta great comments and a lotta great guesses last chapter as to the identity of the familiar face! You'll find that most of you had it bang on!
> 
> It would be awesome to keep up the comments! Let me know you're staying safe out there!  
> 

VII

Her shirt read: ‘QUESTION EVERYTHING’ and, since she’d arrived, it seemed like every teacher and parent whose gaze had slid over the words was willfully deluding themselves into assuming it was somehow pro-learning rather than anti-establishment (ha―it was both). Well, their denial suited MJ just fine. If she was going to be their goon for the day, her one resistance to full capitulation was a lack of school colours.

Alright, she’d brought the yellow team jacket, but only because her mom had made her. And as soon as she’d been pointed to her booth, she’d balled the jacket up and left it on a chair tucked in behind. Mr. Harrington wanted the decathlon captain? He was gonna get a captain, and captains did not attire themselves like followers. MJ would not plaster on a winning smile, but she did make an effort to slightly warm her blank expression and the dead look in her eyes as she distributed pamphlets to anyone who walked up to her booth. Her thought was, if she was quick enough with the pamphlets, maybe the people would read them instead of asking her questions, thereby forcing her to speak, thereby making her complicit in this slick propaganda show. At least she was getting volunteer hours for this. She’d insisted on it.

Called by any other name (or the official one), this was the Midtown School of Science and Technology Club and Team Preview Day. Mouthful. The objective, she’d been told (multiple times, as Mr. Harrington had the very sensible fear that she might go rogue if she felt like it), was to lure as many members of the sea of thirteen- and fourteen-year-olds as possible to attend Midtown. Personally, MJ didn’t like the looks of the bait, and she was representing part of it. Did parents really go, “Ooh, look honey! They have an all-brass jazz band!” and sign their kid up to go here? The attitude she’d started high school with was more, “I’m here to get the grades I need to give me a wide range of options for college, not to make friends.” This scrub-faced, bright-eyed crowd would probably find that cynical, but it wasn’t. It was practical. Besides, it hadn’t even worked. She’d screwed up by joining decathlon and accidentally making the ‘friends along the way’ that motivational posters were always warning about. ‘Getting involved’ was a slippery slope that had landed her with a fugitive boyfriend and a commitment to be at school on a _Sunday_. In _July_.

Before the Euro trip that MJ assumed the rest of her team might see as being from heaven or hell depending on how much they were getting laid during it to weigh against the, you know, mortal peril that had followed them across the continent, she’d been pushing Mr. Harrington to let her have a co-captain. A second-in-command at the very least. She didn’t feel as though she needed someone to help her run the team―that had actually been going amazingly smoothly since they fell into line in Cleveland more than a year before―just a handy alternative to be the poster child at shit like this. They could stand in for her. If it was Peter, she might even tough it out at his side. _Might_. Anyway, after the trip that had been one long close call, Mr. Harrington had gotten far too skittish for MJ to approach him with anything as potentially unsettling as a change in the structure of the team. She would not be the one to shake that man’s clearly already shaken foundations.

A couple of her decathlon nerds _were_ here (just not at her booth) thanks to that common nerdy predilection for being involved in more than one extracurricular. Most of the booths, including MJ’s, were positioned along the hallway that led to the gym, and, heading in the other direction, was the room where the student anchors did the morning news. That was where Betty would be. Facing her would doubtless involve acting sad while she articulately expressed even more condolences for the end of MJ’s relationship (Betty had already texted and the texts were kind, but there were too many of them―it just made her feel guiltier for lying), and yet, MJ thought she could face it in exchange for a break from the booth. If she were a little shorter, she imagined, she could slip into the gaggle of brand-spanking-new eight-grade graduates and waddle inconspicuously down the hall in their awkward, lanky-armed flock. She narrowed her eyes as she pondered. This seemed like something her new spy-slash-guardian could teach her.

While she had her ass perched on the edge of the booth, balancing back on her palms and unconsciously making herself shorter, she spotted another of her decathlon teammates. Brad Davis emerged from the gym with another guy, both of them wearing their complete basketball costume. Or, uniform, whatever. Going the full mile for school spirit. As they wove through the juvenile hoard, she saw that Brad even had a ball under his arm. Yikes. Court King Ken, basketball included!

The scowl she could feel reshaping her mouth probably seemed at odds with the fact that MJ really didn’t _want_ to be a dick to Brad. Things had started out well between them when he’d transferred to Midtown last year and joined decathlon. Yeah, she’d distrusted his obvious jock-ness at first, but he was genuinely intelligent and far less cocky about that than she’d seen him at pep rallies, wearing his jersey and surrounded by his basketball buddies. Over the course of the year, he’d fit in well with the existing team members. As captain, MJ had been privately proud to see acceptance on both sides. The only place there had ever been friction was between Brad and Peter. Oh, she had given her boyfriend hell for acting all possessive and weird, always making a point to refer to MJ as his girlfriend if Brad was nearby or folding a not-so-casual arm over her shoulders if Brad was looking right at them. It was bullshit caveman behaviour that she’d thought was a total overreaction.

Before Europe.

The second Peter was distracted trying to fight monsters he’d been falsely informed were well on their way to ending life on earth, Brad had gone from being MJ’s airplane seat-buddy and obscurely-themed walking tour-companion to flirting with her. And it hadn’t been done with a delicate touch. There’d been no mistaking that, as wrong as Peter’s prehistoric reactions had been, his suspicions had been absolutely correct. She’d been a fool for doubting the Peter-Tingle. But hey, nobody’d told her the thing had a homewrecker-detection setting.

The busier and more distracted Peter had become during the day (with secret Fury meetings and worries over why Tony Stark wasn’t showing up to lend a hand), the more Brad had seemed to think he had a chance of winning MJ away from him. Should she have come right out and told him she was sneaking into Peter’s room every night so that they could very much find time to be an attentive, _satisfied_ couple despite appearances? Probably. What she really hoped was that Brad had just felt some kind of compulsion to cut loose because they were a group of teenagers largely unsupervised in a series of foreign countries. She hoped he had been doing like he did in basketball and shooting his shot. And now that his shot had missed, rolled sadly across the court, and been kicked directly back at his groin by her waiting foot―to eloquently elaborate on the metaphor―she hoped he was fucking over it. The only thing MJ wanted from Brad Davis in senior year was a little respect for her relationship.

She hadn’t been counting on having to announce the end of that relationship more than a month before the start of term, which was why she was unprepared enough to let the scowl jump from her mind to her face the second she saw him exit the gym.

Working to get her expression back under control, MJ told herself that, in all these people, he wouldn’t see her. He’d walk right by. It wasn’t like he was looking for her. He was with his teammate and they’d be going someplace that wasn’t the academic decathlon booth. For a good theory, it folded an awful lot like a bad one when Brad’s friend continued down the hall and Brad himself peeled away with a slap to his buddy’s chest, stepping right up to her allotted corner of hell.

“’Sup,” she said flatly, taking control of the conversation before he could and thrusting reading material at him. “Pamphlet?”

Brad let out a sickeningly sunshine-y laugh and moved closer to her, getting out of the flow of traffic.

“Thanks, but I’m already on the team, remember?” He took the pamphlet and set it back on top of the stack next to her.

He smiled like his reply was a joke they were in on together. Then, Brad reinforced the idea by turning to rest his ass against the booth the way she was and crossing his arms. No, they were _not_ on the same team. Well, yeah, but. No.

“How’s it going out here in the corridor of academia?” he asked when she didn’t venture further conversation. MJ gave him a few seconds to tack on some boorish remark about how he’d just come from the gym, where student athletics was concentrated, and flash his biceps while she openly rolled her eyes. He held back.

“I think I’m being slowly irradiated by the brightness of so many young minds,” she finally replied.

“Well,” he acknowledged with a sideways sort of nod in her direction, “‘ _l’enfer, c’est les autres_.’”

MJ gave Brad a cautious side-eye before smiling, just a little. If he was trying to flaunt his brain, that was far more acceptable than his biceps.

“‘Hell is other people,’” she translated.

“Sartre tried to warn us.”

“I don’t think anybody ever made him represent his school club at a student recruitment event.”

“I… honestly don’t know the answer to that.”

MJ snorted out a small laugh and felt her shoulders relax. Maybe Brad would be ok this year. A friendly (or, nonhostile) interaction now, then about a month and a half of not seeing each other could work wonders for their acquaintanceship. A set of twins shuffled uninterestedly past the booth in front of them. She wondered if keeping up this conversation would discourage people from approaching; it was a theory that seemed worth testing.

“How ‘bout in there?” she asked, pointing at the door to the gym. “Any promising young athletes?”

“All the tall ones are pretty gangly, but so was I at that age.” His brief laugh was acceptably self-deprecating. “There might be a future captain in the bunch. We’ll see.”

“Is that what you are?”

“Our captain graduated in June, so Coach’ll be picking his replacement in the fall. I know I’m being considered.”

“I guess you made a good impression last year.” It was an observation, not a compliment, and MJ expected Brad to interpret it as such.

“I know a couple dozen guys in ripe-smelling sweat socks seems like a tough crowd, but hey, if I can win _you_ over…”

He shot her a smile and she returned it, feeling uncertain of him again.

“It’s an ongoing process, with me,” she informed him.

Brad put his hands up innocently.

“I would expect nothing less.”

Externally, MJ gave him an awkward nod of acknowledgement. Internally, she had no idea what kind of ground they were standing on. Was he _flirting_ with her or just trying to do what _she_ was trying to do―get their it’s-never-gonna-happen-romantically relationship back on track so they could coexist over the course of senior year? They stood there without speaking for a few minutes. She managed to placate one over-eager-looking parent with a pamphlet and a lukewarm smile.

“Hey, uh, MJ?”

“Yeah?”

“We’re friends, right?”

“ _Yes_ ,” she immediately confirmed. Excellent. He’d given her an opportunity to be perfectly, unambiguously clear.

“So, then it’s not weird if I say I hope you’re doing ok?”

“I’m not loving being a student ambassador to the masses, but I’m trying to put my suffering in perspective. Is it too obvious?”

Brad chuckled.

“No, not that. I just…” His expression, when she spared him a glance in her peripheral, grew serious. “I heard about your breakup.” MJ turned to give him a sharp look that requested he select his next words with care. He looked appropriately, trepidatiously wide-eyed. “I assume you’re the one who ditched him, but I also assume it still sucks.”

She held his eyes for a long minute.

“It sucks,” she said.

She could agree with that much, lying only by omission. It was more than she’d been able to offer Cindy, but then, Cindy probed harder than Brad hopefully would. Anyway, if he tried, MJ would shut him out. Did they have to talk about this? Why were people so fucking solicitous?

“Then I’m sorry about that.”

“Sorry for being right?”

Brad gave her a half-smile.

“In this case,” he said, “yes.”

“Ok.”

What? She wasn’t going to thank him. That might encourage future nosiness and MJ wanted to live her life as opaquely as possible.

“I’m not going to talk about him anymore.”

“So quit it already.” She granted him a slight smile to show she was just screwing with him.

“I actually better get back to the gym,” he said, pushing away from the booth.

“Good luck with your dribbling and stuff.”

Ugh, back to doing what she was supposed to be doing. Wearily, MJ scooped up a handful of pamphlets. Who was the local hero on call to rescue her from her captain-ly duties now that Spider-Man was on the lam? She was just about bored enough to start abusing her secret-phone privileges. Unfortunately, she’d left it at home. Besides the secret thing, carrying two phones just felt way too bougie, like something Flash would do. There was one lucky bugger who didn’t have to be here today. Probably lounging by a pool somewhere, slurping a mocktail.

While she was still arranging her bouquet of pamphlets, fanning them out in her hands with even spacing (for something to do, _and_ , if she looked focused, maybe no one would bother her?), she realized Brad was lingering.

“I’ll see you around?”

 _Obviously not_ , MJ thought, while saying, “Yeah, sure.”

For some reason, that still wasn’t enough to get rid of him. She frowned suspiciously at the hovering. He swung his arms, knocking his fist into his palm.

“Speak,” she commanded, eyes narrowed.

“If you ever want to _not_ talk about it some more, well.” Brad paused. MJ willed him to stop doing whatever he was doing, but he was too far from the booth, beyond her dominion, slipping back into Brad Davis: Student Athlete mode. “You have my number.”

He left before she could point out that she had _everyone_ on the decathlon team’s number. To let them know about practices and offer study help before tournaments. God _dammit_ , Brad. He’d been sneakier than she’d been expecting, lulling her into a false sense of security. She’d come to the school today paranoid that someone would follow her or try to take her picture or yell something about Spider-Man at her. None of that had happened. Instead, _Brad_ had happened and his lending of an ear felt so much more insidious. All MJ felt able to hope for―nearly acquiring a papercut when some dick slipped a pamphlet from her grasp while she was thinking―was that Brad was being supportive. And that was _it_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Spock voice*: braaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAD! (Let me have my clumsy references.)
> 
> Next chapter: It's m*therf*cking Cindy time! Also, MJ takes some initiative towards making a reunion with Peter happen! (Yeah, that's the central plot line, I'm just very devoted to Cindy Moon.)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the most difficult things about this fic now is remembering to post it on Saturdays. Like, I know I put new chapters up on Saturdays, it's _remembering_ that it's Saturday that's the problem. You know?
> 
> Anyway, hope you're all keeping well! (If it turns out today's actually Friday, I stg...)

VIII

MJ didn’t have a job lined up. Instead, she was planning to spend the working hours of her last truly free summer (next summer would be the summer before college, and who knew what would come up) volunteering. It’d look good on her applications while feeling more wholesomely selfless than, say, the soullessness of part-time, minimum-wage, young-lady-may-I-speak-to-your-supervisor labour. Not everyone was lucky enough to get the choice of whether or not they wanted to work and MJ was not taking it for granted. Not now that she’d sort of been forced into it.

She’d been doodling at the hospital where her mom worked for years. It had started when babysitters had fallen through and MJ’d had to amuse herself until her mom’s shift was over, or until June could get one of MJ’s friends’ moms (these weren’t plentiful) to pick her up for a last-minute playdate. When she was older, she’d started to enjoy sitting for hours with just a notebook and pencil case in hallways no one ever seemed to go down; some people might find them creepy, but MJ liked the quiet. In high school, she’d wandered too close to the paediatric wing and been suckered into doing her first portrait of a child―a toddler with no hair and a big, irresistible smile. It turned out, there was nothing like the feeling of brightening the day of an ill child and their family members, and seemingly no better way of achieving this than with a quick sketch she could tear out and hand over. She’d become enough of a fixture that showing up at least once a week, usually a couple hours before her mom’s shift ended so that they could ride the bus home together, came to feel routine, comfortable, for both her and the patients in for extended stays. Apparently, her presence brought certainty to them both.

…Which was why her mom had spoken to the hospital’s volunteer coordinator and gotten the woman to accept MJ’s time doodling the sick kids as accruable volunteer hours. It wouldn’t change any of the practicalities of what she did once she got there, but it did mean clocking in and out a little more regularly, rather than just showing up when she felt like it.

Her first official shift was tomorrow. There was a chance she’d be seeing Cindy then too and, bolstered by the looming busyness, MJ decided to risk checking the news to find out what the world was saying about Spider-Man and/or Peter Parker. She adjusted the heating pad on her abdomen (she’d ended up getting her period that afternoon), leaned back on a firm pillow, and tapped the browser on her phone. To get the lay of the land, she started by typing ‘Spider-Man’ into Google.

An _assault_ of headlines―that’s what MJ felt a group of clickbait-y titles should be called. Some were certain, others skeptical, but too many used the ugly word ‘MURDERER.’ When she thought of her own fascination with crime and conspiracy, of the allusion behind the black dahlia that hung from her neck, she was ashamed. Not of the gift itself; all that represented was Peter’s affection for her. It was just unsettling, how she’d tied this kind of thing to a high entertainment value. If she didn’t know Peter, if she wasn’t in love with him, would she be one of the ones sensationalizing this story? The steep downfall of a superhero. A mysterious (and for fuck’s sake, no pun on the deceased’s name intended) murder the world was racing to explain. It sounded right up her alley.

MJ scrolled without clicking, mind numbing a little when she kept seeing the same words in different orders. Yeah, if she didn’t know Peter, she’d be reading this shit, she had to admit that. She stopped when she realized she’d flown past a few instances of a new word: ‘INNOCENT.’ Now, MJ swiped back up a little, started comparing headlines. It looked as though Tony, Pepper, and whoever else they had managing Avengers-related press were countering the media at every turn; wherever there was a story claiming Peter had done this or that wrong, there was one right behind it that denied it, with evidence.

The answer to the question she hadn’t yet voiced ( _how do I help him?_ ) came to her. This wasn’t one of her regular grisly fixations. It wasn’t historic, and it sure wasn’t impersonal. She had evidence―years of it, watching Peter and learning who he was―that no website in the word had access to. Instead of stoking another passive preoccupation, this time, with this case, MJ would get involved. She would try to solve it. Dammit, her dork boyfriend’s obsession permeated her thoughts. It told her: do or do not, there is no try. Fine, she would solve it, but not on her own. The Black Widow had made sure MJ understood that she had resources, many of which had immediately gone to work, countering the bile spewed across the internet that was retraceable to the mouth of J. Jonah Jameson. Hmm…

* * *

“Hypothetically,” MJ began.

“I hate hypotheticals,” Cindy said swiftly. Then, she looked past MJ to an approaching man in a suit. “Hi! Are you here for the presentation? Just inside.”

It was the next day and, following her morning of voluntary doodling for the kids who were keeping her emotionally available in Peter’s absence, MJ had left paediatrics and come down to the foyer inside the south entrance. Cindy had been waiting.

Cindy’s dad, an architect, had gotten the contract to build onto the Critical Care wing and would be giving a presentation on it to various professional people MJ didn’t really care to find out anything about. Apparently, from Cindy’s account, the main part of the extension would be fairly utilitarian (standard hospital shit, like elevators that went to every floor but the one you were trying to reach and hallways that all looked the same), but the face of the building would be a spectacle wrought in metal and glass, making its north-facing lobby shine with natural light throughout the day. That was supposed to be one of the highlights of today’s presentation. Cindy’d told her the concept art would be more than dazzling enough to please the investors and board members and whoever else would be in the audience. Cindy was here because she wanted to be an architect, like her dad; she had the impeccably smoothed-back ponytail and neat black blazer to prove it. She was shadowing her dad today―and all summer―to get a sense of what the job could look like from the metaphorical top floor. MJ just felt lucky to have Cindy and her sharp, logical brain close by.

“But fine,” her friend allowed, turning back to her, “hypothetically?”

“Hypothetically, if I wanted to prove Peter’s innocence, where would I start?”

Cindy stared at her. When she spoke again, she’d lowered her voice to match MJ’s.

“Do I even need to list all the reasons why that is not your responsibility?”

“N―”

“First,” Cindy listed, her thumb shooting up between them as she counted them out on her hand, “Peter is your _ex_ -boyfriend. His problems are not your problems. Second, he presumably still has, like, super people on his side. Third… Good afternoon! Presentation’ll be starting just inside in about ten minutes! _Third_ , this is why we have a justice system with investigations and presumptions of innocence until proven guilty. Fourth―” She snapped her mouth shut abruptly. MJ frowned.

“Fourth…?”

Cindy looked uncomfortable.

“What if he’s guilty?”

“ _Cindy_.”

“We don’t know what happened on that bridge and―”

“It’s not Peter. He wouldn’t do that. He _saves_ people.” MJ backtracked, recalling that her friend didn’t know that she’d been in the loop on her boyfriend’s secret identity for a while. “Uh, I mean, based on everything I’ve ever read about Spider-Man and since Peter’s him…” She trailed off. Cindy was holding her in a stern gaze. “Peter’s a good guy,” MJ concluded firmly.

“If you believe in him so much, why did you break up with him?” Cindy studied her while MJ said nothing (because she wasn’t sure what exactly _to_ say). “So that was a lie and he’s the one who broke up with you.”

“I didn’t technically ever specify which one of us…”

“No,” she continued, ignoring MJ and refuting her own guess, “you’d never let him get away with something so idiotically noble.”

Cindy’s face went serenely thoughtful for a few moments. It was always a terrifying expression on her. Made MJ feel like she was in the eye of a storm, the stillness eerie and menacing rather than soothing. Suddenly, her friend’s eyes went wide.

“You’re still together, aren’t you?” she hissed. “Are you insane? What are you doing out in public like you don’t have a care in the world? Shouldn’t you have, like, a bodyguard or something?”

MJ rolled her eyes.

“I’m being careful. I, you know, take precautions when I go out.”

“Like what? Sunglasses and a baseball cap?”

“I…” She thought of the very-unlike-her aviators nestled inside the upturned Giants cap that she’d left in her mom’s office on the fourth floor. “It’s a hospital, Cin. I should be reasonably safe.”

“Haven’t you ever watched any cop show ever? There’s _always_ bad shit going down in hospitals. Hi! For the presentation? You’re in the right place!”

As soon as the door closed behind the busy-looking woman in the power-pant-suit, Cindy’s beaming smile fell hard, like it was going all the way to the floor and planned to shatter when it got there.

“You’re still dating Spider-Man,” she whispered intensely, “and you’re not being careful enough. No, shush! You’re _not_ , MJ. And now you’re going to start digging into the circumstances of Mysterio’s death? You gotta hear how that sounds. _Dangerous_ ,” Cindy insisted, in case MJ wasn’t catching on.

MJ shrugged cavalierly to cover for the fact that she really hadn’t thought this through too far―she’d spent plenty of her life thinking and for once, the right thing to do was obvious and she wanted to act.

“Maybe not digging,” she said. “Maybe just, gentle prodding?”

“Describe you and Peter taking each other’s virginity some other time,” Cindy snapped aggressively. She flicked her ponytail while MJ’s face flared hot. “You need to take this seriously. Don’t be the token non-white character in a horror movie.”

“Got it,” she agreed, nodding. “Don’t go alone.”

Her friend softened and grabbed MJ’s hand.

“I don’t know what it’s like to be in love and want to do stupid things for that person and have your personal safety be an afterthought,” she began.

“Oh my god. Is that what I’m doing?” MJ wondered aloud. “I’m Peter. I’ve become Peter. What the fuck.”

“ _Anyway_ , if you have to do this, just… play it smart.”

“Cindy, isn’t it?” The pair spun to face a woman in a silky navy blouse, heading towards them with her hand outstretched. Cindy dutifully shook it, smiling like she’d met her before. MJ was grateful her volunteering didn’t involve networking. The woman’s gaze landed on her. “And is this your… girlfriend?”

Cindy dropped MJ’s hand like MJ had just pinched her palm.

“No. No, this is my friend, Michelle.”

Seeing that her friend was weirdly skittish, MJ stepped in on her behalf.

“We go to school together and I’m a regular volunteer in the paediatric ward.”

“That’s wonderful,” she said, seeming genuine to MJ’s assessing eyes. “We appreciate your time.”

She introduced herself as a board member and, with a nod to Cindy, disappeared into the conference room.

“What’s the time?” Cindy demanded. MJ held up her phone. “Ok, I’d better get in there and be my dad’s cheerleader.”

“Try to calm down a little maybe,” MJ suggested. She wanted to ask her Cindy why the hell she’d freaked out like that (oh, the freaking out was pretty normal for her high-strung friend, but it usually didn’t happen in front of polished professionals in public settings), but didn’t want to stress her out further.

“Right,” Cindy agreed. She took an overly-deep breath. “Where was I?”

“In the process of talking some sense into me,” MJ dryly prompted. “Something about… oh, playing it smart.”

“Yes. Play it smart,” her friend repeated with a commanding nod. She heaved open the door and turned back, a decidedly more mischievous look on her face. “And I’d start with _The Daily_ _Bugle_. They kicked this whole thing off, right? They had to get that footage from somewhere.”

MJ snorted a laugh to herself as the door closed behind her friend. She began her long trek back to her mom’s office, taking the scenic route by choosing only the least crowded corridors so that she’d have lots of time and silence in which to think.

Beginning with the _Bugle_ had been her instinct too, but she trusted Cindy’s judgement; it was encouraging that she’d confirmed this as the best first move. The certainty of her tone helped as much as the suggestion. Occasionally, MJ would wade way out into the middle of something, then flail when she started doubting herself. Left to her own devices, she might have gone down the _Bugle_ route only to change direction and end up in the middle of this mess, completely muddled and unintentionally putting the brakes on her attempt to help Peter. Now, she could hear Cindy’s voice in her head. It’d be just like their decathlon review sessions. Her friend was precise and she never pulled punches.

And now she knew the truth about the status of MJ’s relationship. Well, that wasn’t such a big deal. Peter had a friend in on it and so did she. They were even. Cindy was a little manic, but she was loyal as hell. MJ started thinking that it was too bad Cindy and Ned hadn’t worked out way back when―they did have that whole loyalty thing in common. But then Ned and Betty wouldn’t have gotten together, and they were awfully fucking adorable, and also _why was MJ thinking about this stuff, she did not want to be her friends’ matchmaker_. Fuck, she needed Peter back just to have someone coax her out of her own head.

As Cindy had requested, she tried to be more careful the rest of the week. She alternated her route to the hospital and kept her face buried in a book while she sat on the bus. She wouldn’t give up the disguise though. It wasn’t great, but it was something, plus, it pleased the sports fan in her mom to see MJ wearing her handed-down Giants cap.

MJ didn’t relate her full conversation with Cindy to her mom. It was Thursday evening by the time June recalled that MJ had been expecting to bump into her friend way back on Monday; MJ wasn’t mad about the lapse, she knew her mom had had a busy week. Avoiding discussing all of Cindy’s worries about her safety would avoid discussing _June’s_ worries about her safety. MJ was seventeen―it was too late to pack her independence back into its box and hope she wouldn’t leave home alone. Her mom didn’t try to extract promises from her to spend all day hiding under the coffee table in their living room, but she had said pretty much the same thing as Cindy, only sooner. She wanted MJ to ask for help. To have backup.

MJ decided to appease the two of them, but, after a staring match with her spy-phone, couldn’t make herself reach out to Peter for the first time since he’d left town to request a security contingent. The loser would worry even worse than her mom. Besides, she didn’t want to make him feel like he’d been neglectful by not sending someone to her himself. Could he do that? Did he have agent-dispatch privileges? Who the fuck knew what went on at that compound.

With her boyfriend ruled out and the phone still sitting on her bedside table, another option occurred to MJ. The middleman. Or, middlewoman. If MJ could make sure any calls or texts she sent Peter on that phone would go to him and only him, she could butter him up a little and work up to the security thing. Maybe even mention that she was planning on exonerating him, single-handedly, if need be. First, she needed an answer.

MJ grabbed a notebook and a thick-tipped black marker. Flipping to the last page, she wrote a message she hoped would be easy enough to interpret yet vague enough to mean zip to anyone else who might spot it: ‘CONTACT LIST?’

Tearing the page out, she crossed her room and raised the blinds she’d kept down since the day the story came out. She taped the message to her bedroom window and lowered the blinds over it, hiding the paper from view. From the inside, at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> everyone: MJ no  
> MJ: MJ _yes_
> 
> Next Saturday-that-probably-still-won't-feel-like-Saturday: MJ gets in contact with Peter! Sort of! (I know, but I swear, you guys, we are so close to the next E-rated chapter.)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the quality Cindy love in the comments on the last chapter! As I write this sequel from MJ's perspective, I'm really appreciating how much more room I have to focus on female friendships. It's one of the differences I'm enjoying, as well as the chance to introduce more angsty feelings. (Hint, hint, angst ahead.)
> 
> This chapter's all about communicating from a distance (and to think, I had this written before we were self-isolating). However, the distance between MJ and one of these characters will soon be closing...

IX

MJ had been getting used to avoiding her phone in the mornings―and as much as possible throughout the day―but she was pulling up her email minutes after getting out of bed on Friday morning. She’d checked her sign first (nothing different there, but she didn’t really know what she’d expected) and removed it from the window out of paranoia. She’d even hurried into the kitchen and flipped through the mail her mom had left out on the counter last night. The mail had come hours before MJ had taped her coded message in place, but the idea of the Black Widow breaking into their apartment in the middle of the night and leaving an innocuously unmarked white envelope amongst their regular junk mail was too exciting not to check for. MJ knew a _spy_ now. Wild.

Sure enough, email was the intriguingly quotidian method Romanoff had used to make contact. There was a message, apparently without sender, waiting in MJ’s inbox. She read it, hopping into her jeans. Again, toasting frozen waffles (because her mom wasn’t there to ban her from using the toaster―she only burnt them a little). A third time, brushing her teeth. It read: _Just you and him. Picture two tin cans and a piece of string. Still got your back. NR._

MJ kinda wished she’d woken up sooner because she needed to put some thought into this. She hadn’t spoken to Peter in over a week and she’d feel bad just firing off a, ‘hey.’ But she had to get to the hospital and she didn’t want to bring her super-special second phone. She dithered before leaving, returning to her room twice to stare at the phone. Finally, she gave up and marched out of the apartment.

So, that hadn’t really been resolved, but MJ did feel better on her commute today. Knowing that Romanoff had eyes on her apartment (like she’d been banking on but hadn’t previously been able to confirm) helped put her at ease. Though she’d never doubted the spy, being told that the Avengers were looking out for her and receiving actual evidence were two different things. It was weird to feel good about the importance that gave her while also worrying about being important enough to attract bad attention.

MJ’s messenger bag thumped against her leg when she walked and got on and off the bus. In addition to the sketch pad she used for her hospital drawings, she’d tossed in a standard lined notebook. Within the relative security of the hospital, she was planning to find time to brainstorm ways of getting at the information she sought from the _Bugle_. The most straightforward thing to do would be to call and ask where they’d gotten the Mysterio footage, _except_ , that approach had a few obvious flaws. That Jameson guy seemed like a real asshole. Exposing Peter to danger like that? Suspect or not, he was still a minor; MJ called that criminally irresponsible. It was likely that Jameson would immediately get his back up if she questioned him. Additionally, if someone more nefarious―pause while MJ looked into the metaphorical _Office_ camera at the thought of a more nefarious figure than an irresponsible, shit-disturbing, sensationalizing, white man in a position of power―had the paper’s phones tapped or computers hacked into, it wouldn’t mean anything good for her. She might have to get creative, and the exciting thought about that was that she might have to get _illegally_ creative in order to do what was right.

‘PLS HELP WITH BUGLE INFILTRATION SCHEME’ seemed like something she should’ve written on the window note. Well, she could email it to Romanoff after the fact, right? But when MJ checked her inbox after walking into the hospital, the Black Widow’s email had disappeared. _Cool_. Inconvenient, but cool.

It was a slow day for sketching sick kids. A couple of her regulars had gone home, another had transferred hospitals, some were sleeping. MJ drew for her own amusement for awhile, but her idle caricatures developed a nasty habit of sprouting mustaches and pointing angry fingers at her. She sighed.

Since the parameters of her job were far from strict, nobody would be coming to check on her. To be on the safe side, MJ decamped to an isolated waiting room, still in the paediatric ward, and settled herself and her bag in a couple of chairs with godawful upholstery. She kept her sketchpad in her lap and slapped her notebook down on top of it. She twiddled her pen, stuffed it into her ponytail, and pulled it out again. Flung her legs over the arm of the chair next to hers. Watched her shoes―half-concealed in filmy blue medical covers―bounce restlessly. Ok.

There were two approaches, MJ decided, dividing her page in half with a swift stroke. She either broke into the _Bugle_ (classic B&E or electronic―became a sub-thought) or did the infiltration in broad daylight. Only, neither of those really seemed like her style. Considering she’d never planned a felony before. Minor detail. Either way, she’d need to do some research. Maybe that was the thing to focus on until she got some backup from the Black Widow. MJ stretched, digging her phone out of her back pocket. The closest she could get to backup right now was of the moral-support variety and because she was, number one, alone and, number two, uninterested in starting an actual conversation, she went to Cindy’s Instagram for her reassurance.

MJ snorted at her friend’s expression of fierce intensity in a picture she’d posted following her dad’s presentation the other day. She liked it. A phone ringing at the nurse’s station down the hall made her jump and she scrolled by accident, descending into the comments. Ugh, there was one from Brad, subtly bragging about his own summer internship at... MJ sat up straight and zoomed in. At _The Daily Bugle_. No fucking way. She navigated to the paper’s Instagram (apparently not everyone at the _Bugle_ had their head all the way up their ass like Jameson and were with the times enough to create a strong social media presence) and saw unposed shots with bad composition and dull captions. (Ok, so not a _strong_ presence.) None of Brad, but that wasn’t surprising if he was a new hire, and an intern at that. She went to Brad’s account instead.

Yep, the latest photo was him grinning next to the _Bugle_ sign. MJ had to roll her eyes. She’d never heard Brad talk about a burning desire to work for a newspaper before, though she didn’t spend a ton of time listening to him, and his enthusiasm looked over-the-top, _The_ _Devil Wears Prada_ -ish. Was Brad the type to play the eager-to-serve new kid to J. Jonah Jameson’s boss-zilla? Potentially. Hadn’t he proven in Italy that he’d work pretty damn hard to ingratiate himself if there was something he wanted? _The Daily Bugle_ wasn’t exactly a world-class institution for ethical journalism, but at this stage, MJ knew it was all fodder for the college applications they’d be mailing out in six months or so. Or maybe Brad didn’t care about the job and his mom had pushed him into it, like how June had set up the volunteering gig for her. Could it be that Brad Davis―Basketball Brad, make-your-boyfriend-act-possessive Brad―deserved her sympathy? Well, MJ still felt fairly uncertain about him after his friendliness at Midtown the other day, but it felt like the universe was handing her an ally here, a mole behind enemy lines. A tool, at least. Yeah, she was comfortable viewing Brad as a tool.

 _Sweet_ , she commented on his braggy internship photo.

That should do it. She’d never left him a comment before. A single word should practically be like flashing him. Would it be arrogant of her to time how long it took for Brad to reach out to her? Didn’t matter, an incoming text already had her phone vibrating in her hand.

 _My cousin got me the internship_ , Brad had written. _Pretty lame way to spend my summer, but he’s a fact-checker, working his way up to journalist, and he thought he was helping me out_.

 _I wasn’t being sarcastic_ , she replied. What was a blatant lie between decathlon teammates? _Congrats on getting it. What kind of stuff do you have to do?_

_Thanks, MJ! I’m going to be managing their social media. Mostly posting prepared stuff that full-time people hand off to me._

_So you haven’t started yet?_

_Starting Monday. Just missed the bombshell, but I’ll be around for the fallout. But you probably don’t want to talk about that._

There was no question which bombshell Brad was referring to. She wondered how he felt about coming in after Jameson had revealed Peter’s identity. Not that Brad would’ve been important enough to have any involvement, or even hear about the scoop. Still, he and Peter were _not_ friends.

 _Not really_ , MJ texted back, biting the inside of her cheek. She couldn’t go straight for the Peter angle, not if she wanted to convince and/or trick and/or use Brad to help her find the source of that Mysterio footage. _We agreed that_ not _talking about it would be our thing_.

Yeah, she cringed sending it. Hopefully he was dense enough to―

_That’s right! Hey, maybe if things calm down enough, I could show you around after I start? I mean, I guess I can’t really promise that since I’m basically a lackey, but if you’re interested, we could give it a shot._

_Totally_.

Talk about behind enemy lines! Fuck, this was so much easier than she’d thought it would be. She didn’t have to worry about how suspicious it might look for her to ask because Brad was _offering_.

 _We could hang out sometime too_ , Brad added.

And there was the hitch. MJ sat with that text for a second, glancing away from her phone and looking purposelessly around the waiting room. She tried to remember the feeling from last weekend at her decathlon booth, the feeling that Brad had gone hard in Europe but still seemed redeemable, seemed like he could handle being friends, like he wouldn’t push a romantic agenda. Hanging out was not dating. Fine, it was possible that Brad meant it to be like a date, but he was being vague with her to test the waters. But that was what friends did too! She and Betty and Cindy hung out and it wasn’t an orgy situation.

Ugh. She thought about turning Brad down flat just in case he was angling for hand-holding and paying for dinner. She thought about the possibility of walking right into the _Bugle_ as Brad’s guest, his invitation vouching for her presence. _Dammit_.

 _Yeah. I’m volunteering this summer, but I have a regular schedule so it wouldn’t be hard to..._ To what? MJ paused. What could she say that would suggest a platonic hang-out? _...find time to grab a burger or something._

There. Pretty good. A burger said, _I’m_ _sloppy and informal and do not want you to picture kissing me_ , didn’t it? It was the most benign thing she could think of in the moment. Beyond that, the ‘something’ would have to cover her, protecting her prerogative to propose a different, even less romantic idea if they really did hang out. Because she was absolutely not doing it unless Brad came through with his end of the deal; she’d have to remember not to refer to it as a deal when/if she saw him.

_That would be great!_

_K_ , MJ allowed him in return. _Chill, Brad_ , she thought. _At best, you’re still on friendship probation. You trying to pick me up in Europe wasn’t that long ago_.

She considered that a sufficiently concluded exchange and shoved her phone back into her pocket. If only Romanoff could see her now.

That evening, she ate dinner distractedly. Normally, her mom would be more vocal about MJ’s lack of suppertime engagement (when they were both home for dinner, able to eat together, it meant a lot to June), but from the sympathetic looks she kept tossing out, MJ figured her mom was assuming the distraction was Peter-related. Which it was, it just wasn’t the result of her feeling sad and missing him―it was plotting out what she’d say now that Romanoff had informed her that the line was private and secure. It had been a week since they last texted, and those texts had mysteriously disappeared from her phone (her old, normal phone). She honestly couldn’t remember this many days going by without talking to Peter since... well, since before they’d done much interacting. Before she’d flipped him off or called him out on being a loser. Way back when she’d just watched him because he was cute and _how come everyone wasn’t watching him_? MJ felt that she needed to simultaneously communicate how much she missed him _and_ assure him that she was just fine and hardly noticing the distance. God, she just wanted him not to worry and to know that she hadn’t forgotten about him.

She assumed she looked pretty melancholy by the time their meal was over, because June let her off dish duty. Then, in an obvious attempt to appear as though she wasn’t pitying her daughter, she made MJ promise to give the apartment a thorough vacuuming and dusting the next day. Promise given, MJ tried not to rush to her bedroom.

The spy-phone turned on like a normal phone―faster though―and, curious, MJ examined its exterior. Looked like it’d fit her regular charger. Good thing, because the practicalities had slipped her mind while the Black Widow had her cornered in the back of a crêpe truck. Through display only, the phone urged her to create a passcode; seemed like she wasn’t getting her own Karen, which was a bit of a rip-off, but it was true that having a phone that spoke to her like a sentient being wouldn’t be the best way to keep it secret and spy-like. There was a messaging icon dead center on the screen once she was in. That was it. No obvious apps for summoning an Iron Man suit or accessing a tunnel system for quick escape. Bummer. Nothing to procrastinate with while she mentally composed the perfect text to her boyfriend. Alright then.

MJ tapped the icon and took a deep breath. He was saved as ‘Peter.’ Why ‘Peter’ and not ‘P,’ or, if Tony Stark (whom she supposed had designed the phone) was going to be so un-sneaky as to use his real name, why not ‘Peter Parker’? Why not ‘Spider-Man’? The minds of billionaires.

 _Hey, nerd_ , she began. She was going to aim for consistency where she could. To buy herself time to work up something better, MJ sent that. No immediate reply. So, Peter wasn’t waiting by the phone like a teenage girl in an ‘80s movie. That was good. Her next text would be genius.

_Your pal BW gave me this phone. I’m guessing you have one too, or else they’re just overreacting with me. Or they think I’m a security risk. Does BW think I’m a security risk? That would kind of hurt my feelings lol_

She sent that one too, the reread it. Well, she’d managed to talk about the Black Widow and ramble a little. Something better, she had to have something better just waiting to pour out of her. The trouble was that accessing that better, more meaningful, yet-unformed text probably meant cracking the shell of her vulnerability. Fuck, fuck, fuck. MJ held the phone to her chest for a minute and stared hard at her ceiling. She could tell her boyfriend she missed him and his dumb muscles without making herself tear up. It was just a fucking text.

_You remember all those postcards we saw in Venice?_

She sent that text alone as a prompt. Something in her swelled, hot and difficult and missing him.

 _The ones with pictures of Piazza San Marco, and the masks, and a million with gondolas, as if everyone who goes to Venice immediately gets into a gondola? Although, I guess that’s what Ned and Betty did, so... You mailed one to your aunt and I mailed one to my mom (hers just came the other day, by the way, guess we didn’t really think about the timing―I’ll check your mail for May’s) and it was kinda interesting to think about them racing us home, an unusual souvenir, but that wasn’t the best part._ The inside of MJ’s nose tingled and ached seconds before her vision went wet and wobbly. She hit send.

 _It was just fun to stand there with you, pull the postcards off the rack, and trade them back and forth while we each picked one. I remember how the rack was set up on the street, right outside the souvenir shop. It was sunny and nothing bad had happened yet. We’d just gotten there. I remember how much you were smiling._ A sob stole out of her, but she laughed softly through it, seeing that smile better than she could see the screen at this point. Luckily, she was a pro texter. Very nimble fingers. She sent that one too.

 _Long story short_ , she typed, ‘ _I wish you were here.’_

Send.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every five chapters, we have a **PETER CHAPTER**! WOO! Based on the comments, I know poor Petey's been missed and let me tell you (switches to *Stefon voice*), _this chapters has everything_ : a daring escape, an enthusiastic reunion, NATASHA ROMANOFF?! (Not necessarily in that order.)
> 
> Also, zero Brad Davis. Such a shame. I know he's been a real fan-favourite.

X

So... Peter hadn’t exactly asked _permission_ to leave the compound (where he was being hidden for his own safety), which meant that technically, nobody’d told him ‘no.’ When he slipped out in his nanotech Spidey suit, FRIDAY was a real pal and didn’t snitch. That was great because he didn’t know how to bribe anything other than a guard dog, and even then, some of the fancier ones turned their noses up at your garden-variety dog biscuit. Again, there was no specific request for or denial of permission, but the second Peter cleared the distant property boundary, Karen began automatically blasting an AC/DC-heavy playlist called ‘Nothing I Wouldn’t Do.’ Said it was a new protocol. Pretty easy to guess who’d installed that. Apparently, locking a door wasn’t great security against the guy who’d designed the building. Huh. Anyway, Peter was totally using the playlist title as evidence if he got busted later. Or, tomorrow, actually, since he wasn’t planning on being back before midnight.

He had to see MJ. He’d been lonely before, had plenty of experience being lonely, and for once, he was living in a place where he saw a bunch of people he cared about all the time; May, Tony, and Pepper were all constants, plus Happy was around a _lot_ (Peter was keeping his eye on him), and then whichever members of the team were hanging out or temporarily stationed at the compound for a self-given assignment. This was Peter’s first experience of being lonely specifically for MJ. He wanted his girl, as much as it made him feel like the main dude in this really old movie, _Grease_ , whenever he thought of her that way.

Ms. Romanoff had been back and forth from the city to the compound and had left him a phone with a note of few words. He assumed it was from her. There hadn’t actually been a name on the note, it had just read, ‘for MJ,’ which Peter interpreted as meaning he was to use it to speak to MJ, since, if the Black Widow wanted to give his girlfriend her own phone, there would be no one more capable of accomplishing that task than herself.

So he’d used it for its designated purpose. It wasn’t an overstatement to say it’d been amazing being able to text MJ again after Mr. Stark had confiscated his normal phone; without the new one, his main point of contact outside of the compound was Flash, and that particular acquaintanceship was still very much in progress. Peter had texted MJ every day they were apart. Nothing about where he was, or anything Tony was doing to protect him, or anything else that could be deemed compromising if the messages were intercepted, just everyday stuff. That had been the best part of getting to this stage in their relationship―the everyday stuff, the not having to think so hard.

Except, of course, that MJ had never texted him back. Not once. Instead of not thinking hard, he was overthinking _all the time_. Was he being pushy? Was he putting her in danger? Was the phone some sort of trap that someone had broken into the compound to set for him? Ok, that one was the least likely, but still! Peter had no way to find out why she wasn’t returning his texts or the probably-super-lame voice messages he’d been leaving because her phone was never on when he called. It’d been over a week of hitting his head against the proverbial wall of her silence, so he was pivoting from overthinking to zero thinking (beyond how to get out of the compound). He just... he needed her. They could figure this out if they were together. Therefore, the only answer was to get them together and, suspected murderer or not, it was more feasible for him to go to her. Probably. Peter tended to feel his certainties give a little when he was barrelling down the highway on top of a transport truck late at night. Gotta love that built-in heater. Karen hadn’t even needed to ask before activating it.

There was a pretty normal amount of traffic for people heading south towards New York City for the weekend, but less than an hour into his trip, Peter noticed one car in particular. Though it was flashy and fast-looking, it was holding position in his transport truck’s blind spot; the driver didn’t seem to mind that they were in the fast lane and enflaming the road rage of many drivers who came up behind them and found they had nowhere to go. The subsequent inter-lane weaving of these cars created a mess of signals and brake lights, and still, that one car held steady.

There were bad drivers and then there were bad people, and Peter was starting to think the car contained the latter. He was mentally toggling between escape routes (he didn’t want to engage and blow his cover so soon after leaving the compound) when Karen informed him that he was receiving continuous incoming calls. He’d had his suit lady turn off communications before he left, but she told him that she’d blocked so many that it seemed unlikely the caller would desist.

“Fine,” Peter said, half his concentration on calculating how hard he’d hit the ground if he jumped to avoid his pursuers, “who’s calling?”

“Natasha Romanoff.”

Maybe his escape from the compound hadn’t gone as unnoticed as he’d thought.

“Ok,” he allowed. “Connect her. But _only_ her.”

The call went through immediately and Ms. Romanoff said one word before hanging up: “Sunroof.”

“What?” Peter asked dead air.

A light out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. The driver of the suspicious car had switched on their interior lights―which were undimmed by a glass barrier since the sunroof had been opened. _Oh_! Things worked out better when he didn’t give himself time to stress over whatever risky thing he was about to do, so he just tapped into the Peter-Tingle and flipped from the top of the transport truck straight through the car’s sunroof, landing in the passenger seat with a thud. He retracted his mask.

“So,” he said casually, twisting to address the Black Widow while she pressed a button to close the roof, “are you going into the city for business or pleasure?”

“Funny, kid.”

Peter craned his head around to look out the rear windshield.

“You think anybody saw that?” When he glanced over at her, she returned his look with a raised eyebrow. “Right,” he agreed. “Of course they didn’t.”

“Tell me,” Romanoff said instead, “did you put any thought into this at all?”

“What do... what do you mean?”

“You’re dressed as Spider-Man. Right now, that’s a look more recognizable than Iron Man.”

“Wow, you went there.”

“Don’t tell Tony.” He saw her subtle smile as he nodded a promise. “Seriously, Peter. You’re too conspicuous. Travelling by night loses many of its advantages when your suit’s that shiny.”

She didn’t call him an idiot or say that was one tip he should’ve known, but, yeah. He knew.

“Sorry,” he said. “Habit.” He didn’t mention the built-in heater factor. It might’ve been summer, but it was cool when the sun went down, and way cooler when you were clinging to a moving vehicle. He enjoyed his suit’s more luxurious functions.

“Don’t apologize to me,” she suggested.

“Yeah,” Peter said, Ms. Romanoff’s handful of words painting a pretty clear picture of the many dumb ways he could’ve been caught tonight, “I see your point. So, where are we going? Back to the compound?”

God, this was going to _suck_. Maybe she’d take pity on his thoughtless choices and sneak him back in, forget the whole thing ever happened.

“No. I’m driving you to your girlfriend’s building.”

“How did you I know I was going to―”

She stopped him with a look. Peter swallowed the question.

“I’ll do this one time. Next time, better disguise.” She turned her head to give him a real smile this time. “Us spiders have to stick together.” Immediately, her expression went stern. “Don’t embarrass me again.”

Romanoff wouldn’t tell Peter anything about her own mission, why she was heading back into the city tonight, or how she’d happened to spot him slipping out of the compound (actually, he was happy not to hear about that one―it was probably super obvious), but she relaxed over the course of the drive. She confirmed she’d been the one to leave the phone for him, and one for his girlfriend as well.

“I don’t know why she hasn’t used it!” Peter burst out, then shot Ms. Romanoff an embarrassed look. “You probably don’t know either.”

“I could guess.”

“Yeah?” He perked up, then turned suspicious. “Wait, is it because you’re spying on her? Mr. Stark used to spy on me, and I gotta say, not a fan.”

“I’m keeping an eye on Michelle, not spying, and I could guess because I’ve been in her position. You might have noticed that my boyfriend can be fairly conspicuous,” she said dryly. She shrugged, smoothly changed lanes. “You and Michelle had it easy before. Easy for doing what you do,” Romanoff clarified before Peter could argue. “You were compartmentalizing your identities, now that decision’s been taken out of your hands. You’d like your relationship to be the simplest thing in your life, but it’s not.”

Peter got the feeling not all of this was about him, which was actually kinda nice. To hear someone who could relate and had their own story.

“Michelle might not be contending with all of this in the same way you are, Peter, but she is facing it.”

“I don’t really know what she’s facing,” he said quietly.

“You should find out.”

“How?”

“By talking to her, in person.”

“So that’s why you’re...”

“I had to figure it out on my own. You two don’t.”

“Well, not on your own though, right? With Dr. Banner?”

Ms. Romanoff laughed softly.

“Once he smartened up a little, yes. That’s another thing you and Michelle have going for you―you’re already on the same side. You’re together and you want it to work. That goes a long way.”

Peter contemplated her words as the sky settled from deep blue into black, then began to lighten again in the glow thrown upwards and outwards by NYC. As she’d stated, Romanoff drove him right to MJ’s building, but she pointed him to the side, advising that he not scale the thing from the front, not now that she’d put in the effort to disrupt the less well-thought-out parts of his non-plan. He gave her a humbled smile, replaced his mask, and hurried from the car.

He climbed. Not knowing if MJ would be happy to see him, or angry for a reason he didn’t even know about. Not knowing if she’d ignored him on purpose. If staying together still felt worth it to her. If she’d been lonely for him too.

The last time he’d shown up like this, she’d known he was coming and they’d gone through the sliding door off the balcony. This time, without MJ waiting, Peter went to her bedroom window instead; if he tried the door himself, he’d probably break it and the repercussions from that wouldn’t make _anything_ easier. He lowered his mask before tapping on the glass. Hopefully, that would minimize how much this freaked her out. He swallowed.

When the blinds slid up and his girlfriend’s sleepy face appeared, Peter suddenly didn’t want to move. He had his hands braced on either side of her window and all he wanted to do was _look_ at her. MJ’s eyes widened and she put a hand to the window like she wanted to, _god_ , like she wanted to touch him. Remembering that that was a real thing they could do, Peter raised questioning eyebrows and jerked his thumb towards the balcony, watching her nod as she understood. He beat her there, dropping down over the railing, but she tugged him through forcefully by the arm the second she had the door open.

Peter eased the it shut behind him and didn’t even get to say ‘hi’ before she was kissing him. He wasn’t ready; MJ drove him backwards until he planted his feet. Her weight against him was so familiar, her welcoming kisses maybe a little hungrier than usual. From the pressure of her lips, it felt like there was a lot to be said, but that they couldn’t afford to take a break long enough to say a word of it. Peter held her greedily, pulled her in until her feet left the floor.

When the kissing slowed and sighs slipped in between, MJ brushed the hair back from the face Peter was still trying to speedread.

“My mom’s here,” she whispered. “Sleeping.”

He stiffened in surprise and set his girlfriend on her feet.

“Should we not…?”

“I mean, not if you don’t want to,” she replied, face so close to his, “but she sleeps pretty deeply after a shift.”

Peter stared at MJ, unsure. Normally, they had a little more privacy to do this, a little more space. Yeah, it was gained by sneaking around behind their guardians’ backs. If they could manage _that_ , they could be quiet. Theoretically.

Kissing him once more, MJ took his hand and led him to her room, her bare feet and his suited ones _shush-shush_ ing down the carpeted hallway. Once she’d closed the door carefully after them, Peter sprung on her the way she’d sprung on him. He had her back against the door with a soft bump. There were maybe three seconds of panting before their mouths crashed together. Her hands went to his hair, the back of his neck, and he collapsed the suit down to a pair of metal discs beneath his now sock-feet and kicked them backwards, further into her room. With a grateful-sounding moan, MJ gripped the back of his white t-shirt. She communicated her request in a pair of upward tugs. Peter obliged, stripping off his shirt, then bringing his hands to her hips as he moved in to kiss her again.

“You remember Prague?” he asked quietly.

MJ nodded, then groaned, pressing a palm to his back when he shifted to nip her neck. He pushed his hips forward and she matched his pressure, making him gasp. Peter hooked his fingers into the band of her loose pajama bottoms.

“Your turn,” he said, sliding them down so he wouldn’t have to fight the elastic.

His girlfriend inhaled a shaky breath as he trailed his fingers down along her hipbone, then jumped to her inner thigh, caressing her soft skin with his fingertips.

“I don’t remember teasing you like this in Prague,” she complained. Peter smiled into her neck, kissed it, and raised his head to look her in the eye.

“This better?” he asked, abruptly cupping her between her legs.

“Well…” MJ widened her legs, pajama bottoms loose around her ankles, and adjusted his hand until his middle finger laid against her clit. “Now it is,” she assured him, rocking lightly.

When she smirked, Peter laughed under his breath.

“ _Fuck_. Why can’t you let _me_ be the sexy one?” he joked.

“Cut the shit, nerd. You know you were doing just fine with the whole pinning me to the door thing.”

He cracked a grin.

“Oh yeah?”

Stroked his finger over her, down until he felt how wet she’d gotten. Brought a pair of slicked fingertips back to her clit and made a tight circle. A high cry started to leave MJ’s mouth as her knees went weak, but Peter trapped her lips with his own and wrapped his free arm around her waist to keep her in position.

“Looks like I’ve still got it,” he bragged.

He drew more of her arousal forward and reversed his circling. She gripped his forearm to hold his hand in place for a minute and― _Thor_ , he wanted this to be all about her, but all the blood in his body was pulsing in his cock and telling him to take his pants off and get down to business―rubbed herself against his fingers.

“I’ve been wetter.” MJ tried to say it dryly, but there was a hitch in her tone that he still felt smugly responsible for putting there.

“Yeah? When?” Peter countered, speeding up his fingers. She swore, low and forceful.

“Shhh!”

“ _Peter_.”

“Mhmm?”

His arm tensed around his girlfriend to stabilize her as she twisted and angled her hips. Her grip tightened on his other arm, but she’d quit trying to control his movements. Now he was just support. Peter loved it all, everything except the part where her eyelids clamped shut as he started alternating between tapping her clit and rubbing it back and forth.

“Please open your eyes, MJ,” he whispered earnestly. She compiled.

“You’re here,” she breathed, and shuddered in his arms as she came.

Peter kissed her cheek and spoke softly in her ear while her breathing slowed. She was clearly trying to speed up catching it, presumably so they could talk. Ok, he could wait on―Peter glanced down at his crotch― _that_. Then again, whenever he assumed things about his girlfriend, she had a habit of proving him wrong. With her inhales and exhales coming more easily, MJ reached down, but it wasn’t to put her pajamas back on. Instead, her hands went to his button and fly.

“Now a memory for Queens,” she informed him.

He wasn’t permitted a chance to point out that they had plenty of this type of memory from Queens, the last being kinda quick and dirty on his living room floor; MJ plunged her hand straight into his boxers. Her warm fingers closed around him. Peter grunted like he’d been gut-punched by Rocky.

“Condoms are still in the drawer,” she said, nodding at her nightstand.

He laughed―delighted, relieved, excited―trying to keep it quiet and chill rather than triumphant and hysterical.

“Anything else I can do?” Peter joked.

“Yeah,” MJ shot back. She released her loose grip on him, slipped her hand out of his underwear, and turned her back on him to plant her hands on her closed door. “Hurry up.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to HiImMoral, Spideyfics, Blackjack_xxi, Theslytherinterran, JuSt_AnOth3r_N3rd, Eowima, tvfanatic97, kitty22803, and hurricanezone for your comments on chapter 10!!
> 
> No endnotes again last chapter. You know ~~who's~~ _what's_ coming.

XI

“Not even a joke about sheathing your lightsaber?” MJ wondered. It was a weak attempt: her voice was unsteady from the way Peter’d just eased himself up inside her.

Her boyfriend puffed out a breath on the back of her bare neck. They were still keeping their voices down, with her mom asleep in her room across the hall.

“Don’t provoke me with intentional inaccuracies. You know you don’t _sheathe_ a lightsaber.”

His hands began an unhurried migration from her hips up to her breasts, which he first covered with his palms before massaging. MJ closed her eyes in pleasure. Having him behind her had been an impulse decision and there was something really sensual about it. She adjusted the angle of her hips at his first testing thrust.

“I get to tease you about your nerdy shit. You love that I know your kinks.”

“ _Star Wars_ isn’t a kink! It’s an _interest_.” Peter groaned a little, withdrawing so slowly that she wanted to take over and slam her hips down to his. She resisted. Barely. “And you shouldn’t get to tease me until I have more to tease you back with.”

“Sorry your girlfriend isn’t a big ol’ loser like you.” MJ grinned into her upper arm, fingers tensing like she’d claw the door when Peter thrust smoothly back in.

“Not about your interests, about your kinks.”

“Maybe I― _uh_!―don’t have any.”

“That’d be too bad. I always wanna― _mmph_!―make this better for you.”

“Faster would be better,” she suggested, dropping one hand from the door to reach back and grasp Peter’s naked hip.

“Ok, uh…”

MJ could practically feel her boyfriend’s eyes assessing the angle of her back, calculating the force of his thrusts. Nerd.

“Gimme your hips,” he said after a moment. His hands slid back down her body and guided her hips in his direction. The next time Peter plunged into her, he followed it up with another thrust almost immediately. “Better?” he checked.

“Yep,” she gasped back.

As he sped up, MJ shifted her hand from the door to the frame; it was starting to thump. It was the sort of sex-related thing she found hilarious and would’ve normally pointed out to Peter, but it was significantly less funny when her mom was nearby and it was absolutely _imperative_ that they go unheard.

Keeping one-handed hold of her hips, he brought his other hand around her body, laying a slightly sweaty palm against her abdomen. Her hand tensed on his hip when his fingers crept down to play with her clit. MJ felt like she was buzzing there, between the orgasm of a few minutes ago and the one coming to her in the near future, like a shaken jar of bees.

“We’re gonna have a conversation at some point, right?” Peter huffed, driving up into her. Every one of her toes dug hard into the carpet.

“I thought that at first,” MJ panted, “but then I thought… why the hell would we waste our time talking?”

She heard his ragged veil of a laugh before his weight shifted forward. With one hand still busy between her legs (which were twitching because he’d started flicking her clit), he moved the other to cover hers where it grasped the doorframe, hot palm pressed to the back of her hand. MJ made a loud, desperate sound that she tried to swallow back when Peter slammed deep inside her, her shaking hand on his hip the only guide, the only small effort towards controlling his thrusts.

“Shit,” he breathed, “was that ok?”

MJ nodded vigorously because she didn’t trust herself not to emit some kind of pornographic wail. Peter’s thrusts turned shallow and rapid. Even like this, it felt amazing― _they_ felt amazing. Her hips found and matched his instinctive, tingle-inducing rhythm. But it was like he’d fallen into a holding pattern, waiting for something.

They both knew her hand was accomplishing fuck-all, but she hoped the gesture of removing it could be symbolic. Maybe she didn’t _want_ his thrusts controlled. So, MJ released Peter’s hip and slapped her hand to the doorframe.

“Whatever that was,” she whispered, “please do it again.”

She was only worried for a second when his fingers fled her clit, his hand lifting to cradle hers the way the other one was. Worried that her approaching climax might slip away without the extra stimulation. Silly. He’d never let her down and, evidently, wasn’t about to start.

Completely unrestrained, Peter _bucked_. While the force of it didn’t hurt, it did make her feet stumble forward. Before he plunged into her like _that_ again, MJ let her hands slip down the doorframe a little, lessening the angle between her stomach and thighs (dammit, the nerd had somehow transferred math-y thoughts through skin-to-skin contact). His hands stayed higher up. Even without raising her eyes, it felt sheltering, like he was ready to protect her from falling rocks, or open an umbrella over her head.

Wrong. He wasn’t the umbrella, he was the storm, crashing into her like thunder, triggering a pleasurable ripple like lightning. MJ had thrown her shirt off earlier and she was glad because her body felt sweltering. How could they generate such a liquid heat? It sloshed through her, seeming to breach the barricades to travel up her arms, then trickle back down her spine. Her restless shoulders shook with it. Peter continued the uninhibited thrusts, making her wonder if she really understood biology at all, dizzy over how her body could possibly be capable of containing this sensation. Maybe she should have been in summer school too, springing these questions on some poor teacher. _Explain_ _this_ , MJ wanted to demand. _Point me in the direction of the science that maps the kind of thing he makes me feel._ The only thing she instinctively understood was that nobody knew, nobody could explain.

MJ opened eyes she’d forgotten she’d closed and stared at the plain white wood of the bedroom door.

“Left,” she gasped, because Peter’s breaths were tripping on the way in, sounding like they’d tumble all the way down into his lungs. He was close.

Clearly trying to adjust for her needs, he shifted his hips, drilling into her differently.

“No, no,” MJ tried to make him see. She felt back for his stilled hips and pushed them away so he sprang free of her.

Ducking her boyfriend’s arm, she gave him a nervous glance, then _walked_ a few steps to the left. A minor tremor in her forearms, MJ leaned forward―eyes locked on Peter’s now―to grip the edge of her dresser. When he followed (immediately), he moved behind her again. The next time their eyes met, it was in the mirror. She was paralyzed. Couldn’t remember the thought process that had gotten her from over there at the door (slightly unusual for them, but fun, hot) to here (entirely new, hints of Peter’s naked form behind hers, his head higher because she was bent over).

“I don’t know,” she blurted and her boyfriend’s face came back to life from the look he’d been wearing, careful as hers.

Peter watched the side of her face―her real face, not her reflection―and tenderly pushed her hair back from her cheek. He let his fingers lightly carry the strand to lay it over her shoulder, smooth it down her back. She closed her eyes.

“I don’t know if this is a kink,” MJ said, quieter. “Maybe I do have one.”

“Do you feel comfortable with me here?” he checked. He touched her hair, just her hair.

“Mhmm.”

“Do you feel, I don’t know, better than comfortable?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you feel…” Peter went on, mouth suddenly brushing her ear, cock suddenly pressed up against her. “…like you want me to keep going?”

“ _Yes_ ,” she breathed.

“You better open your eyes,” he suggested, nudging the head of his erection between her legs, “or you’re gonna miss what I’m guessing the point of the mirror is.”

MJ laughed under her breath and widened her stance first. Then, she opened her eyes. She started with her gaze on the dresser’s flat surface, between her hands, but, not too slowly, let it sneak up to the mirror again. _Fuck_. Two Peters. One in front of her, the other behind.

“Hey,” he said, and eased up inside her.

She couldn’t keep her eyes on her own expression all of a sudden, her face in the mirror could’ve been a maze, a blur, but he said, “I know that look.” MJ could only point her imploring eyes at his in their reflection and hope that asked the question she was feeling too overwhelmed to get out. “Pretty sure it’s how I look whenever you call me ‘Spider-Man’ in bed,” he answered.

“In bed?” she managed.

Peter grinned, then tilted his head down to kiss her neck. His hands took firm but gentle hold of her hips.

“When you decide what you’d rather call it, tell me,” he requested. He began an even pump, in and out.

Coming to grips with this whole situation wasn’t going to happen with them both already so wound up and near to the end. MJ didn’t know where her hand was going when it released the edge of the dresser, was surprise to watch it smack the glass and stay there. She caught her boyfriend’s stare in the mirror and watched it intensify, saw him bite his lower lip into his mouth, whimpered when one of his hands dropped to caress the front of her thigh before running high enough to make its reflection visible from her position. MJ dared it higher with her eyes, until Peter’s hand covered her breast. He plucked unhurriedly at her nipple. Somehow, he could do that and increase the pace of his hips at the same time. She breathed hard, head swirling.

“God,” Peter mumbled, “look at you.”

Her gaze jumped like his words had been a command, lifting from his hand to her own face. Lips parted, cheeks flushed, hips rocking like evolution had intended in its favourite daydream. It was some version of herself that she’d never seen except through her boyfriend’s reactions. MJ had thought she’d drawn herself naked, all those frantic midnights with her and the Night Pad. But no. She’d never seen herself naked before, not truly naked. She came with a sharp thrust from Peter and the feeling of his eyes on her, sliding hers to his face in the glass while he worked her through it―whining, shivering, tears fleeing from the corner of one eye. MJ was glad he held off. It meant that she was more clear-eyed for his orgasm, the sight of which had her breath stuttering all over again. His _hands_ on her, the almost-nuzzle of his face along the span of skin from her shoulder to her neck. The exhaled, “ _M_.”

She didn’t know how they separated afterwards, all of what had happened pounding in her head and her knees feeble from holding her up throughout. She had a garbage pail in her bedroom now and Peter tossed the used condom in; it was an artifact of the regularity the sexual side of their relationship had so recently had. All the nights her mom’s shifts and Peter’s rooftop Spidey-vigils had ‘miraculously’ lined up, making it dangerously convenient for him to drop by.

They got dressed lazily and when Peter dropped backwards onto her bed, MJ curled up next to him, linking their fingers without looking because she knew exactly where he’d wrap his arm around her.

“I wanna say I’m sorry for just dropping by, but I’m really not,” he said.

“I hoped you might come,” she admitted, glancing sideways at him. “I probably sounded pretty lonely in those texts.”

“What texts?”

“The ones I sent you.”

“When?”

“Earlier.”

Peter propped himself up on his elbow to look down at her.

“I came because I haven’t heard from you.”

“You have heard from me,” MJ countered. “Check your phone.”

“The suit doesn’t have pockets!” Peter laughed. “Calls and texts from my old phone were synced with the suit so that Karen could alert me, but the new phone’s supposed to be, like, super private, right? It’s not connected to anything else.”

“Huh. So you showing up was just a crazy coincidence,” she mused.

“Well, no. I wanted to see you. _Really_ wanted to see you.”

Her boyfriend shifted to lean over her, running his fingertips over her cheek and kissing her lips. _Mmm. Nice_. When the space between the light kisses abruptly collapsed, Peter’s mouth growing urgent and MJ finding she’d gripped his wrist to keep him close, she shuffled away a little, smiling.

“That’s been established. Why don’t you catch me up on something I _don’t_ know?”

With a massive sigh, he backed off and sat up. MJ scrambled up to join him. Now, only their knees were kissing as they sat cross-legged on her bed.

He let out a long exhale and asked, “Long version or short version?”

“Short. I’ll ask questions as needed.”

“’K. Flash is in my summer school class, Pepper and Mr. Stark are having a baby, and May and Happy are being so awkward around each other.”

“That sounds like the compound gossip,” she said. “I more wanted to know what you’ve been up to and where your head’s at.”

“Mostly feeling really cooped up. The compound’s, like, infinitely cool until you’re stuck there.”

MJ narrowed her eyes.

“How are you allowed to leave, by the way?”

“Uh, I snuck out.”

“Sure,” she said, knowing from Peter’s shifty expression that she hadn’t gotten the whole story, but what did it really matter? She wasn’t going to rat him out to his aunt or Tony Stark. Hadn’t even considered the how because she’d been too busy enjoying the fact that he was here.

“And what’s going on with the Mysterio situation?” MJ asked, studying his face.

“Turns out scientists and engineers, especially scientists and engineers who are ex-employees of Stark Industries, are really easy to track down. The team’s been rounding those guys up and delivering them to the authorities.”

“Tony Stark recognizes an authority other than himself?” Her tone was heavily sarcastic, but not as mean as it used to be when she talked about him. That guy was kind of saving her boyfriend’s ass. An ass worth saving.

“Well, he has other priorities with the baby on its way, so Cap’s been taking charge. It definitely helps to have a more neutral party. Mr. Stark was pretty pissed.”

MJ nodded, thinking for a minute. She reached out and played with Peter’s fingers.

“So, all the people who were working with Mysterio, people don’t think they’re good guys? Victims? Like, what with the public believing you murdered their boss?”

Peter shook his head. He wove his fingers between hers.

“There was too much tech, too many copies of all the simulations they’d created, prototypes of Beck’s costume. Just… so much evidence. It’s being handled as completely separate from his death, the whole thing’s classed as an international incident slash terrorist attack.”

“It’s good that they’re being taken down. It should help put what Mysterio, or _Beck_ or whatever, did into its nefarious context,” MJ offered. “Nobody’s going to think Spider-Man was in the wrong going up against all of that bullshit. People _saw_ the destruction and now that they know what was causing it, and that Beck was in charge… that’s got to lead somewhere, doesn’t it?”

He gave her a half-smile.

“I hope so. It’s weird having that out of my hands after being right in the middle of it. I mean, I’m used to handing criminals over to the cops, but not usually after such a big ordeal, you know?”

“Yeah.”

“The next problem is Beck’s death and after that…”

“After that?”

Peter gave her a long look.

“What do I do about people knowing I’m Spider-Man? It feels like I can’t even deal with that until after this bullshit about Mysterio’s murder being resolved.” He dug his fingers into his hair in frustration. When he pulled his hand free again, gesturing agitatedly, MJ reached out to smooth his hair back down. “Like, after they acknowledge that I’m not a killer, I’m still Spider-Man. I’m still going to have to figure out what my life looks like when I don’t get a break from that part of it.”

“Summer school’s good then,” she pointed out. “Nobody feels special in summer school. You’re just another dork trying to survive Shakespeare.”

He groaned and she motioned with her hand to remind him not to be too loud.

“Except for Flash,” Peter explained.

“Is he causing problems?” MJ demanded, straightening up.

“Aw, are you gonna track him down and pour juice on him for me if he is?”

She gave him a smug smile.

“Of course.”

Peter snorted.

“Nah, he’s… alright. He isn’t being a shit about it in the group discussions so far and no one else has mentioned me being an accused killer either.”

“That’s nice of them.”

“I think they’re scared,” he said baldly. “I don’t want people to be scared of me.”

“More likely they’re mildly starstruck. Our generation’s pretty irreverent.”

“That might be wishful thinking. Flash is keeping me grounded in the messaging system though,” Peter told her, rolling his eyes.

“So, he _is_ being an asshole.”

“It’s actually worse than that?” His tone lifted the observation into a question.

“What’s worse than Flash being Flash?”

“It’s just…” Peter laughed uncomfortably. “You remember all that stuff he said about Spider-Man when we were in Europe, right?”

“Yeah, how he really respects him,” MJ said, grinning as she remembered. “Is he trying to backtrack now that he knows you’re him?”

“No. I think… I think Flash might be kind of…” He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “I think Flash might have a crush on me. I told him you and I broke up because I figured he’d probably tell a bunch of people and then you’d be safer, but the main thing he seemed to latch onto is that I’m _available_.”

She tipped back, silently laughing her ass off with a hand pressed over her mouth just in case. Of course, the thought of Flash going from bullying Peter to pining after him was only hilarious until she remembered her own problem with being publicly single. Her problem named Brad Davis.

“Ugh,” MJ groaned, flat on her back. Peter’s hand tightened around hers and hauled her back up.

“I _know_ ,” he said.

“Unfortunately, the groan wasn’t for Flash.”

His eyebrows pulled together.

“Then, what…?”

“The good news,” she started, “is that I have a plan for doing a little reconnaissance at the _Bugle_ to try to find out how Beck was able to frame you.”

“Ok, that actually _doesn’t_ sound like great news because it’s risky and you could get in a lot of trouble.”

“It’s not ‘great news,’ it’s _good_ news,” MJ corrected.

Peter huffed.

“Bad news?”

“Bad news is you’re not going to love my in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can we get some garlic or something, to ward MJ's room against even the thought of Brad? You know, garlic, because he _sucks_? Yeah, yeah, I'll see myself out.
> 
> BUT FIRST! In the next chapter, MJ investigates the _Bugle_ , determined to find something that'll help Peter!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all of the great comments last chapter! Seriously, super appreciated as I continue to write this story! To address one point on which there was much discussion, Peter didn't get MJ's texts because he was already on his way to her when she sent them. Like he explained, he didn't have the phone with him, nor was it synced to his suit. As for why she hasn't gotten his... we'll get there.
> 
> Smut break is now over for... not that many chapters! Time for some plot and, inevitably, some Brad.

XII

Based on her own observations, MJ thought she enjoyed being right less than other people. Maybe it was because she’d spent the years when puberty was at its most aggressive as a loner, thereby having few people to lord her rightness over when the lines of social hierarchy were being redrawn in less forgiving strokes. Being right also didn’t surprise her; with the amount of surveying she did, she felt she should be right whenever she made an assumption. Like the assumption that Peter wouldn’t be doing backflips over her trade-off with Brad―a tour of the _Bugle_ in exchange for a burger hangout. Which Peter had assured her, from his perspective of a guy who liked girls, was something Brad would see as a date.

MJ had sworn to cross that bridge with Brad as noisily and as obviously as possible when she came to it. A full minute would not pass, she had vowed to Peter, without her having explained the parameters of the hangout and the completely non-date-like way they would proceed from that moment to the hangout’s conclusion. If Brad didn’t like it, she simply wouldn’t stay. The _Bugle_ thing was happening first, so MJ would have no regrets about getting what she needed and abandoning the acquaintance if Brad showed signs of an inability to be friends.

The trust thing wasn’t ever an issue with Peter; his concern hadn’t been that her snooping for evidence to help exonerate him might actually be a ploy to date Brad (because that would be fucking ridiculous), just that she was snooping. He was worried, he’d wanted to go with her, blah blah blah, pointless commentary because first, she’d already made up her mind, second, he’d be worrying about her regardless while he was gone, and third, him going with her was the stupidest, most impossible thing MJ had ever heard. She’d let him know. There’d been several strong arguments, she felt, but her ace had been that sweet little anecdote she had about being able to handle herself if the situation called for it. Yep. She had invoked the memory of _the mace_.

Peter had grumbled about how she was way less likely to find one of those propped up against the side of somebody’s desk at the _Bugle_ , but he’d quit trying to talk her out of it.

They’d exchanged a few check-in texts about her (pretty loose) plan in the week and a half since his spontaneous visit to her bedroom, plus regular texts as they jumped feet-first back into being able to talk to each other whenever they wanted. With her spy-phone on more, eventually, all of his texts that she’d missed over the last week came flooding through. They were sweet, and worried, and incredibly… _Peter_. She couldn’t understand the delay; maybe the extra security of the device was some kind of trade-off for lagging texts? Bizarrely, MJ felt more like her boyfriend was watching over her now than the times the creep had actually crawled down the outside of her apartment building on his fingertips like a possessed horror-movie child (with a cheerful red suit and a troubling case of churro-withdrawal). She was also fairly certain the Black Widow was watching over her. There hadn’t been any further cases of her being accosted and hustled into a food truck, but MJ had a _feeling_ that Romanoff was keeping an eye on her. By extension, she convinced herself that meant she had the spy’s full blessing to proceed with the snooping. Peter’d probably snitched to Romanoff anyway, the loveable, protective twerp.

MJ walked over to the _Bugle_ at the time Brad said he’d been given for lunch. She was coming from a quick couple of hours volunteering at the hospital, which she planned to completely lie about and say were happening _after_ the tour of the paper if Brad seemed flirty or even too friendly. There was only so long she could hold a smile. Her cheeks were already tired and she’d only just started the clock on her closed-lipped grin; he’d popped out the front door while she was pulling out her phone to text him that she’d arrived.

Letting him carry the small talk as they entered the building was great because she didn’t want to, _and_ because her attention was free to notice the stickers. Somebody had plastered the door with overlapping red-and-black stickers. Some of them started, ‘Queens loves…’ or ‘I support…’ or ‘We believe in…,’ but they all ended the same: ‘…Spider-Man.’ Her heart felt stretched and flung like pizza dough. It was wild, _thrilling_ , to encounter these unambiguous signs that there were people on Peter’s side. MJ was going to try to take a picture on her way out, making sure Brad didn’t attempt to walk her down.

Except, _ugh_ , as her winning-smile-ed tour guide led her to the elevators, a custodial-looking man in a jumpsuit passed them with a large bucket of soapy water. MJ turned her head to follow him.

“Yeah, that’s the second time this week,” Brad acknowledged, though she didn’t look at him, staring out the front window instead as the man set the bucket on the sidewalk, extracted a wet squeegee and started scraping at the stickers.

“Second time?”

“That they’ve cleaned. People keep putting the stickers up. We can’t really do anything about it except remove them, but Jameson’s furious.”

“Oh, does he have a specific block of time in his day where he confides in the assistant-to-the-assistant-social-media-guy?” MJ asked. She’d forgotten the need to play nice, but Brad laughed at her sarcasm as they boarded the elevator.

“He doesn’t have to. His voice, uh, carries.”

“He yells?”

“Trust me, I’m pretty sure the windows shake.”

She felt bad. Her question hadn’t been because she doubted Brad was telling the truth, but because the idea of working in an environment like that required extra processing. What would happen to the world when men in positions of power weren’t abrasive, abusive pricks, toxic and so fucking hard to dethrone? For one thing, teenage interns like Brad wouldn’t have to smile like everything was fine so they wouldn’t get immediately replaced. MJ was against any business practice that forced her to have sympathy for Brad Davis. That was her latest motivation for dismantling the patriarchy.

Also, if that bastard Jameson was going to yell anyway, she’d have to find out where to get some of those stickers so she could add a few of her own to the door. The custodian probably appreciated the break from emptying trash cans in hearing range of the editor-in-chief.

“Where do you want to start?” Brad asked when the doors dinged open and they stepped out.

“What can you show me?” MJ countered.

His confidence was dampened a bit by his intern status, she assumed, his mannerisms practically meek when he stepped aside or held a door for somebody more important than he was―they probably all were. Brad led her through busy, noisy, open-plan workspaces. It all looked like the kind of thing you’d expect to see if you came here for a third-grade field trip. Jameson’s voice boomed in the background, except when they escaped downstairs to overlook the giant machines responsible for inking and folding and all the other little intricacies, the in-between processes a blur that whirred by on rollers and conveyor belts too quickly for MJ to make them out.

They kept up a brisk pace. Brad was obviously trying to cover the highlights, frequently checking her face to see if he’d impressed her yet, and MJ was almost always jolted by the reminder to meet his eye and not appear too much like she was casing the building. Logically, she knew breaking in to bust open filing cabinets and crack computer logins wasn’t a great option, but the idea gave her a thrill regardless. She was a superhero’s girlfriend, she’d fought evil (not _pure_ evil maybe, but Mysterio was definitely on the spectrum) with a mace, and she could totally-maybe pull off a B&E.

Finally, he brought her to the room where he worked, jerky gestures and flimsy smiles the evidence that he was even further humbled by having to show her the desk he shared with another intern. (Had Brad thought this through at all? He was the one who’d invited her here. Maybe he’d thought she’d say no. Would’ve made more sense.) Their laptops were shoved side by side in the small space. MJ deduced that they’d been made to bring them from home, rather than the paper having to shell out money to pay for a computer that’d be allocated to an intern. Print newspapers didn’t have those kinds of resources, not in this century or economy.

Her obvious lack of concern over his spartan station seemed to relax Brad; soon enough, they were laughing the situation off, each trying to get comfortable in horrible chairs―which they openly criticized because everyone else who worked in that room appeared to also be on their lunch break. MJ started to relax more herself. It was easier to trust Brad when he pulled out his sandwich and started eating, an evolutionarily vulnerable position fraught with the potential embarrassment of getting something stuck in your teeth. She told him she was going to grab something on the way to the hospital when he asked. The thoughtfulness was something she appreciated and, actually, Brad hadn’t said anything flirtatious this whole time. Could’ve been his general unease, but MJ hoped it was the awkward distance she associated with fledgling friendship. _Come on, you dork_ , she thought, _accept that the most we’ll ever be is friends_.

As his hopefully-friend-to-be, she was enjoying this glimpse into his experience at his summer job. As the person who was prepared to mercilessly exploit the access it gave her, she was willing Brad to tell her just one piece of useful information before he had to get back to work and she had to leave. It would’ve been a great time to tag in the Scarlet Witch for some gentle mind control, but that wasn’t an introduction she’d had yet. Brad opened his laptop and offered her a quick preview of the posts he had queued up on TweetDeck. Her hungry eyes raced across the screen, but there was nothing interesting there. As he was finishing his lunch, MJ accepted that she’d have to push a little.

“So,” she began, “do they mostly email you the stuff to put up on social media?”

“Sometimes, if it’s just text. There’s usually some visual element though, and those files can get pretty massive. Not everybody cares enough to save a smaller file just to give the intern an easier time.” He smiled self-deprecatingly.

MJ was about to follow up with a question on whether these massive files were handed over on a USB or through an online dropbox (the _Bugle_ had to have an account like that, right?), when Brad excused himself to use the bathroom.

“It’s probably best if you don’t wander,” he said, wincing as Jameson’s furious voice rang out.

“Gotcha.”

She tried to look slightly annoyed; he’d expect her to, after being told what to do. On the inside, MJ was thinking that things couldn’t have worked out better. The second he left the room, she grabbed the edge of his desk and wheeled herself in close, knocking his chair aside like they were bumper cars. She didn’t want to see any of Brad’s personal shit― _please, do not let him be the kind of asshole who has a file of his own dick pics_ , she thought―so she restrained her limited time to checking his recent downloads and maximizing his browser, discovering that he’d left himself logged into his work email. MJ opened as many attachments as she could and took pictures with her phone, but she wasn’t too hopeful. These were things that had been selected with the intention of them being viewed by a lowly intern. She needed something that hadn’t been curated.

Looking over her shoulder, MJ swiftly checked the door before feeling around a messy stack of papers. It wasn’t exactly on Brad’s desk, but Brad’s desk was too tiny to hold anything but the pair of laptops, so she was counting on at least _some_ of this other stuff being his responsibility; he’d eventually have to touch a real sheet of paper, wouldn’t he? Working at a newspaper?

The instant her fingers closed around a USB, she jammed it into the side of Brad’s laptop and, not daring to waste the time for another check of the door, logged into her own email and sent the files from the day of Peter’s exposure (plus everything in the couple of days that fell before that, but after Peter fought Beck in London) to herself. She logged out and minimized Brad’s browser again. She didn’t safely remove the USB hardware, just yanked it out and sent it skittered back under the pile of papers as she shoved away from the desk. She was tapping idly at her phone when Brad walked back in and said his break was almost over.

MJ stopped short at the elevators as he escorted her out and he seemed to get the hint that she was leaving him there. She smiled awkwardly, congratulated him on his job awkwardly, even shook his hand awkwardly, her mind in full panic over what she’d done and wondering if she’d done it well enough. He probably regretted bringing her here. She’d acted like a real fucking weirdo there at the end. As the elevator doors closed to carry her back to the ground floor, MJ gradually remembered that she was completely fine with that and sighed aloud in the otherwise empty car.

As she stepped out, she started to worry again. Her fingerprints would be all over his laptop! …But why the hell would anyone sweep intern Brad Davis’s laptop for fingerprints. Jesus, crime made her paranoid, and what she’d done was barely a crime! Or, it might have been a huge crime. That was going to depend on what she found in those files. MJ marched stiffly out the front door to the street. Half a block down, something in her memory went _ding_ and she hurried back to take a picture of the stickers to send to Peter.

“ _Shit_ ,” she muttered.

They were gone. She cursed the hard work and efficiency of the people in underappreciated custodial positions. If Jameson’d gotten off his ass to take care of this himself (since he was the one who had a problem with all the Spidey supporters), most of the stickers would probably still be there. He seemed like a guy who screamed a lot at other people to do their work while not doing a goddamn thing himself. Just as MJ was giving up hope―bracing her hands on her thighs to catch her breath from her near-sprint back to the _Bugle_ and the adrenaline starting to ease off―someone with a bulky messenger bag jostled past her, squeezing between her side and the doors. She was about to tell them to smarten the fuck up when she noticed the bright red circle that hadn’t been there on the glass a second ago, right beneath the newpaper’s logo. ‘SPIDER-MAN SAVES,’ it declared. Grinning, MJ took a picture.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: MJ and Cindy have (their version of) a girls' day!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MJ and Cindy are friends because they both know what it's like to have people be jealous of them. (Name that movie.)

XIII

MJ and Cindy were having a girls’ day. The itinerary featured only two items, with no specifications on exact timing for completing either. Item one: finding a birthday present for a pretend-ex, accused-murderer, real-superhero. Item two: trawling through the files MJ had stolen from the _Bugle_. She’d tried to get a head start on that, but there weren’t just finished pieces on that USB, but research too. Versions and cross-outs and details that Cindy was the ideal person to stare at under a microscope and come back with a pattern for.

“Are we doing this right?” Cindy wondered, flicking through a rack of t-shirts that MJ had already decided were dorky but not in the right way for Peter.

“Shopping? Yeah, I think the general idea is that you look and then you buy. Hard to mess that up.”

“I mean our girls’ day,” her friend said seriously.

She was suddenly intent on a pile of sweaters, scanning their tags for a size. This was precisely why Cindy was invaluable to comb through data with; she’d somehow found sweaters in July. MJ steered her away. That wasn’t the right gift for Peter either.

“Well,” she told her, “we’re shopping, we’re lightly scheming, and we have frappuccinos.” MJ shook her half-empty cup, making the whipped topping slosh around.

“True,” Cindy mumbled. Her mouth groped blindly for the fat straw sticking out of her drink while she absently rubbing the fuzzy lining of a pair of slippers as they wandered into the pajama department. “Hey, what about…” She pointed.

“No.”

MJ grabbed her friend’s arm and turned her sharply away from Men’s Underwear.

“Sorry. Touchy subject?” Cindy asked lightly. They were headed towards the watch counter now, something that usually distracted her.

“Underwear? No, I’m fine about underwear. I’m glad Peter wears them.”

Instead of getting lost in the sight of clear watch faces that exposed the mechanical workings beneath like she was supposed to, Cindy planted her forearm on the glass countertop and fixed her eyes disconcertingly on MJ’s face.

“It’s not the _underwear_ , MJ, it’s what they _represent_.”

A salesman wandered over with a bright, hopeful smile and Cindy shooed him away.

“Oh yeah?” MJ asked, giving the watches a once-over herself, not really wanting her friend to go on.

“ _When’s the last time you guys banged_?” Cindy hissed.

MJ felt her face flame up. She marched towards the exit and her friend came hurrying after.

“I can’t take you anywhere,” MJ accused.

“I just want to know you have a healthy, well-rounded relationship!”

“What, are you a counsellor now?”

When she glanced at her friend’s face, she realized she’d been a little harsh. She apologized and offered Cindy a sip of her drink. This was happily accepted, but it didn’t mean the subject was dropped. Not that Cindy said anything. She just aggressively said _nothing_ until MJ cracked.

“Recently,” MJ muttered.

“When’s recently?”

“Like two weeks ago.”

Cindy stopped her with a hand on her shoulder, not seeming to mind that they were in the middle of the hallway at the mall. When Cindy Moon focused, the rest of the world could kindly stop existing until she gave it the go-ahead to start up again.

“He’s been out of the city for almost a month.”

“My vagina says otherwise,” MJ said flatly.

Her friend’s face lit up with hilarity, but suddenly, her shoulders collapsed.

“God, how do you guys do it?”

“You want the particulars?”

“Shut up. I’m talking about maintaining a relationship with the distance, and the stress, and all the… stuff―” Cindy waved her arms and MJ eyed her drink nervously. “―going on. I don’t have any of that and I’m single.”

MJ watched her friend silently. She wanted to make her feel better, but she didn’t think she was any good at advice. Observing people was a hell of a lot easier than interpreting their inner workings. What kind of personal experience did she have? What could she suggest? That Cindy find a dork she liked to look at, wait for him to start staring back, and just suffer through the pining until the sexual tension became too much and they made out after decathlon practice? She spotted a bench with a fake plant beside it and tugged Cindy over, deciding on a simpler truth.

“Sometimes you just… meet somebody and hope they’re as much of a nerd as you are until they confirm it themselves,” MJ said with a gentle smile once they’d sat.

Cindy was frowning, but said, “I’ve never heard you call yourself a nerd before.”

“I was talking about you.” Her friend rolled her eyes and laughed. “Are you ok though?” MJ checked. Boy, she was all the way into this friendship thing now.

A shrug.

“Yeah, I’m just… I feel like I got my priorities screwed up.”

“What do you mean?”

“I want to be an architect, like my dad. I’ve been getting the grades, I’m learning the trade, and, once I’ve gotten my bachelor’s degree, I’ll have the in to start working in the field.” Cindy fixes her ponytail. “I’ve _always_ wanted to be an architect. All I did when I was a kid was stack my toys. Do you know how hard it is to stack Barbies vertically?!”

“No.”

“It takes a lot of perseverance.”

“I believe you.” When Cindy kept staring at her, eyes a little desperate, MJ urged her on. “So?”

“It’s so simple to know what to do with that part of my identity. Other things… I think…”

When it didn’t seem like anything else was coming, MJ suggested hitting the bookstore half a block down. Cindy wasn’t huge on reading for pleasure (only for memorization, with the end goal of decimating other decathlon teams), but she would attempt to keep MJ from buying too much, which should be sufficient distraction to pull her out of whatever was bothering her. That was basically retail therapy, wasn’t it? MJ thought they were doing this girls’ day pretty goddamn well.

She limited herself to two new novels for her own bookshelf and found a guide to understanding Shakespeare for Peter. As she flicked through, she saw that there was space where she could embellish it with cartoon renderings of the characters. Not a super exciting present, but she thought it should help him through _Macbeth_. Cindy was still a tiny bit mopey―although lingering by the coffee table architecture books had perked her up―so MJ insisted on going back to the department store, where she bought her boyfriend underwear. Cindy cheered at the till.

* * *

“Ned’s still coming to the party?” MJ asked without looking away from her laptop.

“Mhmm.” Cindy set her phone down and repositioned her own laptop, stretching her legs out across MJ’s bed. “You’re going to tell Peter I’d be there if I could, right?”

“’Course.”

“Stupid, secret, invite-only compound.”

“I wish you could come too,” MJ told her, closing the document she’d been scanning through and opening the next one. “Ned and I are going to be the only outsiders.”

“Is someone coming to pick you guys up?”

“Hopefully the Black Widow, and hopefully not in a food truck.”

“I’m jealous either way.” After a minute, Cindy knocked her socked foot into MJ’s. “Hey, you find anything yet?”

MJ sighed.

“No. All of this stuff is too prepared… like it just showed up. I guess that’s how it is when they run a story based on a tip or anything that could qualify as ‘breaking news,’” she mused, lifting her hands for air quotes. “It’s not like there’s a trail to follow, like they slowly built this story.” She scrolled a bit. “More like they got the footage and aired it without too much time in between. A lot of this stuff was written after the broadcast. Jameson must’ve had reporters scrambling to cobble articles together.”

“He probably didn’t care too much about what was in them,” Cindy guessed, leaning close to her own screen to read handwritten notes scrawled along a draft’s margin. “More about the headline.”

“True.”

The girls read some more, closing and opening folders, MJ starting from the latest material and working backwards, Cindy doing the opposite while taking notes. Her writing was sharp but miniature on the pages of the notebook MJ’d handed her and would be a pain to read later; they’d agreed that none of this information was leaving MJ’s bedroom, verbally or physically.

“Do you think that’s normal though?” MJ wondered a while later. She slid her laptop onto her comforter and folded her legs. God _yes_ , her knees had needed that.

“What?” Now Cindy was the one not looking up. That was ok, MJ was still figuring it out as she spoke.

“Well, that they don’t seem to have done _any_ fact-checking on Mysterio’s video? I don’t know whose files I swiped, but you’ve seen them… there are notes from different people scattered over these pages. What I grabbed looks like sort of a ‘what do we have on Spider-Man?’ dump. Everybody’s writing and sensationalizing, but where’s the verification? Shouldn’t somebody be fact-checking this shit?”

“Maybe we just don’t have that stuff.”

“I thought that,” MJ agreed, and her friend had obviously heard the thing in her tone that said she was going somewhere with this because Cindy turned her head to peer at MJ’s screen, “but then I started pulling up the stories they published on their website. Aside from the grammar being cleaned up a little―not enough,” MJ had to note, “but a little―it’s the same as what’s in these drafts. They skipped their due diligence, or whatever. Totally skipped it.”

“Peter could sue them!” Cindy gasped excitedly. “That’s libel!”

“Probably, but that’s not what’s bugging me the most. Do you think…”

“Tell me!”

MJ shifted around to face her friend head-on.

“Do you think it came from a trusted source? Obviously, the _Bugle_ ’s sloppy with the details―”

“And the truth,” Cindy pointed out.

“―but I also don’t think Jameson would want to completely put his ass on the line. He must’ve had reason to trust the legitimacy of the footage.”

“ _Right_. So, whether the footage was sent directly to the _Bugle_ , or it passed through a middleperson, whoever possessed it directly before Triple J is either an expert in some way or, like you said, just a trusted source.” She huffed an exhale. “I guess that could mean a lot of things.”

“And what kind of an expert would you have to be in this situation, since the whole thing’s a lie? An expert on verifying the footage hadn’t been tampered with, maybe, but they still wouldn’t be able to vouch for the truthfulness of its content.”

“Then maybe it’s the second thing,” Cindy deduced. “Just a source Jameson’s familiar enough with to feel comfortable running with the story.”

“Not that the connection would have to be too ride-or-die. The chance to be the one to yank Spider-Man’s privacy away obviously outweighed, you know, journalistic integrity of any kind.” MJ dropped her forehead into her hand, digging her fingers into her temple.

“That bastard,” Cindy said consolingly as she patted MJ’s back. “What do you want to do next?”

MJ sighed and straightened up. She glanced from her laptop to her friend.

“I don’t know. You’re the decisive one.”

“True, but I just make decisions based on _your_ instincts.”

Cindy went back to speedreading drafts while MJ considered what the next step could be. She reached over to fish around in the drawer of her bedside table, grabbed her Peter-only phone, and took another look at the way his words had stumbled out, even in text, after she’d sent him the picture of the sticker outside the _Bugle_ office. It made her smile to herself and cleared the mess out of her head.

“I’m supposed to hang out with Brad sometime,” she said finally. There was an undercurrent of groaning in her voice.

“It would probably be too suspicious to meet him at the _Bugle_ again, wouldn’t it?”

“Yeah, probably. Would you go with me? Make it extra clear to him that it isn’t a date?”

“Of course. He didn’t hit on you or anything, did he?”

“No, but I’m still not totally sure that he wouldn’t,” MJ said, “especially in an environment that isn’t the one where he’s Brad Davis, Intern, rather than Brad Davis, High School Renaissance Man.”

“Stupid new kid,” Cindy spat, narrowing her eyes in condemnation. “I wanted to like him.”

“Like him… how?”

“Not like _that_.”

“Are you sure?” MJ asked with a smirk. “I can try to tamp down the sarcasm when I talk to him if you want. Make sure I don’t eviscerate his ego.”

“I don’t want his ego anywhere near me,” her friend promised. “Eviscerate away!”

“I don’t hate him though, you know,” MJ told her more seriously. “I wouldn’t even dislike him if I didn’t think he was trying to get me to go out with him with Peter out of the picture.”

“But he probably _is_ doing that.”

“But if he wasn’t. He’s not stupid, he’s ambitious―”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Cindy droned.

“You two got along fine last year. I don’t think you’d have to do much to encourage him.”

“I’m fine with not encouraging him.”

“If it’s because he might be interested in me, that’s just a dumb crush, Cindy, it won’t―”

“I like _girls_!” Cindy cried out, upper body heaving for a few seconds after.

MJ let out a big breath for the both of them.

“That’s great news because, honestly, those would’ve been some awkward double-dates.”

Her friend flung herself sideways, catching MJ in an unexpected hug.

“Thank you for being such a selfish loner, MJ,” Cindy mumbled.

“Trust me,” she said, gently returning the embrace, “it’s no trouble.”

When they drew apart, her friend still looked a little on edge. That was fair, since MJ imagined she’d stressed a lot over this revelation, not just when to talk about it, but in coming to terms with it for herself. All that identity stuff she’d mentioned struggling with. She didn’t want Cindy to clam up now and regret sharing this with her, so MJ retrieved her normal phone and opened Instagram.

“I guess that explains these then, huh?” she asked, holding up the screen for her friend to watch as she flicked through all the photos of Ally Sheedy she’d liked.

Cindy blushed pink.

“I just like how her eyes look when she smiles, ok?”

“You know she’s, like, old now, right?” MJ said flatly. Rotating her phone so she could see it more easily, she googled the actress’s age. “Yikes, Cindy, _fifty-eight_.”

“I don’t want to hear anymore!” she shouted, flailing to cover her ears. “ _St. Elmo’s Fire_ keeps her youth eternal!”

“Wow, she was born in the _sixties_.”

“Stop giving me numbers! I don’t want to think about the numbers!” Cindy flopped dramatically backwards.

“Hey, the heart wants what the heart wants,” MJ assured her, lowering her phone. She hooked her finger beneath the neck of her t-shirt to lift the chain of her necklace free, unconsciously tracing the black dahlia that hung from it. This was the little piece of Peter she wasn’t severed from. “What the _friend_ wants is for you to find somebody a little more age-appropriate.”

Cindy twisted to look up at her, removing her hands from her ears and frowning thoughtfully.

“Hmm… Saoirse Ronan?”

“Four-time Oscar-nominated actress Saoirse Ronan? Oh yeah, much more realistic.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could say I've been playing a meticulously-thought-out long game with Cindy since _Affinity War_ , but it was only after rereading _AW_ (before I began to write this story) that I got a better sense of her character (as I see her) and how it might develop in the sequel. I love Cindy and, with her as the best friend in MJ's POV, wanted her to have her own growth. I looked at who she's been in my series―bright, intense, loyal, as well as someone who needs to stress a little less and lean more into her relationships. One of her key relationships has been with Ned and part of that was when I linked them romantically in _AW_. Of course, they split up, but it felt, when I wrote it, like not only a way to make Ned available to date Betty (who I ship adamantly), but like an important milestone for Cindy. I like the idea that their short time as a couple was useful to her and that they're still friends. I also like that it paves the way for Cindy's next romance to be a better fit―and, trust me, there will be a next one.
> 
> Chapter 14 is part 1 of 2 for Peter's birthday! There's plot, there's Ned, and through it all, just so much of MJ being horny for the birthday boy.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part one of Peter's birthday and the candles aren't the only things feeling the heat! MJ might need more than a cold drink...
> 
> Also, quarantine has me getting back into listening to the radio and "Hooked on a Feeling" just started playing. Aw yis, the sweet sounds of the MCU.

XIV

“So, you’ve been staying in contact with Peter through super-secret emails,” MJ translated.

“ _No_ ,” Ned protested. “They’re just regular emails. When you told me Peter was still doing summer school, I started to think there was probably a way to communicate with him through that platform and _apparently_ , Mr. Stark had the same idea because after I hacked into the site, he―Peter explained all this to me later, by the way―did some kind of freaky coding so that the administrator would think me being on his class list was just a very persistent glitch and so Peter and I’s emails wouldn’t be archived. We’re on a secure portal of a public site, but this is like another level,” he enthused. “It’s like our correspondence doesn’t even _exist_.”

He was staring at MJ like she should be nerding out with him right about then, but she turned to prop both her forearms on the bar, drawing the attention of the barkeep for the evening.

“Hey, Romanoff, you ever have anything like that?”

The spy had tried to get MJ to call her ‘Nat,’ but MJ’d told her she thought going by her last name was really badass. Consequently, Romanoff had started calling her ‘Jones.’ Right then, she didn’t pretend that she hadn’t overheard them.

“Untraceable emails? Sure, plenty of versions. I sent you one, remember?”

MJ did indeed, the pesky thing that’d disappeared from her inbox after Romanoff had answered her question about contacting Peter.

“And what did you call them?”

Romanoff leaned forward from the other side of the bar with a smirk and whispered, “Super-secret emails.”

MJ shot Ned a smug look.

“How are your mocktails holding out?” the spy checked. Ned gave her a thumbs up while she topped up MJ’s virgin strawberry daiquiri.

“This is cute,” Tony commented, arriving in a crisp button-down and bracing a hand against the bar on the other side of Ned. “When are we switching to the hard stuff?”

If Tony was here, that meant…

Peter’s hand had barely landed on her back when MJ spun around and wrapped him in a tight hug. She distantly registered Romanoff informing Tony that the three seventeen-year-olds would _not_ be ‘switching to the hard stuff’ on her watch.

“Sorry,” Peter said softly into her hair. “I would’ve been down sooner, but―”

“But summer school deadlines wait for no man,” Tony proclaimed. MJ looked to see him beaming, a glass of something non-virgin in hand. “Not even on his birthday.”

“Happy birthday,” MJ remembered to say, surprising her boyfriend with a quick kiss on the lips before they pulled back from each other. She felt hot all over as his hand stayed on the small of her back. He didn’t move away to hug Ned, just grinned at his friend as they did their dorky handshake.

“I’m so glad you came,” Peter told Ned, but his fingers flexed against MJ’s dress at the same time so she knew his words were for her too.

“Are you kidding? I’d come even if you weren’t here,” his friend replied.

The three of them laughed, not because Ned was joking, but because he so obviously wasn’t. MJ saw his eyes widen when Dr. Banner slipped behind the bar. One of Ned’s heroes, she knew, and not just for the super-strength of his green side.

“Staff only,” Romanoff admonished. She was smirking though, something intense in the way she lowered her eyelids as Dr. Banner came closer. MJ glanced quickly back to her boyfriend.

“Speaking of the hard stuff,” Tony mumbled into his drink. From the corner of her eye, MJ saw Dr. Banner pass behind Romanoff to grab a beer. There should’ve been plenty of space, but neither of them tried to avoid the other. Jeeze.

She rotated completely away from the bar, face hot. This was Peter’s birthday party. She needed to stop thinking about sex. True, they hadn’t seen much of each other lately. That didn’t mean every face-to-face meeting would inevitably include Peter taking his pants off. Or MJ taking his pants off for him. She sipped her daiquiri, then licked the outside edge of the glass when a little spilled over. Naturally, that was when Peter turned his head to look at her. MJ watched his eyes go from hers down to her tongue. From the way she was leaning into his side, she felt his shaky exhale. Fuck. At least one of them needed to keep their shit together.

“There’s a whole room to spread out in, you know,” Pepper pointed out with a smile.

 _Oh thank god_ , MJ thought, appreciating the woman’s interruption more than she could communicate out loud. She slipped away from her boyfriend to follow Pepper over to a couch. They hadn’t had much contact, but they’d gotten along from the very first time they met. It was easy for MJ to like someone who always told her how much she liked _her_.

“Congratulations,” MJ said, gaze falling to Pepper’s small baby bump. When she’d been standing, it hadn’t been obvious at all beneath the drapey front of her blouse. Seated, the shirt tucked up around the bump like a covering over rising bread dough.

“Thanks,” Pepper said on a sigh, then smiled.

Most of the pregnant women MJ encountered were in the hospital, nurturing their older children who were patients in the paediatric ward. They were often worried and always a little sickly-looking under the cool lights. Pepper, in contrast, glowed the way MJ’s heard expectant moms were supposed to.

“I’m in non-virgin territory with you,” she joked, clinking their glasses. “Cheers.”

MJ nearly choked as she drank with Pepper. _She’s talking about alcohol_ , she reminded herself. It wasn’t so easy to forget about sex while sitting with a pregnant lady. Luckily, May hurried over from where she’d been placing the cake. When MJ glanced at it, she spotted Happy. He was watching his girlfriend and looking troubled. At least it wasn’t blatant lust on his face. MJ didn’t want to see that ever, but especially not right now. Her gaze darted back to the bar, where Dr. Banner was busy doing something she couldn’t see through Peter and Ned in front of him―what she could see was Stark holding a lighter.

“No fire near the alcohol, Tony,” Pepper called out without turning her head. _Wow_ , MJ thought, _she’s good_.

“You feeling ok?” May asked Pepper, perching on the arm of a chair rather than sinking into it.

“Great!”

“Your feet aren’t hurting?”

“I wore flats, but I can do even better,” Pepper said with a wink. She kicked her shoes away.

“You know,” May began, “I was reading this article the other day―oh! Thanks!”

Happy had appeared, touching her shoulder and forcing a plate of appetizers into her hands.

“Hey, MJ,” he said loudly.

“Oh, hi, hun,” May joined in, rolling her eyes at her own absentmindedness and rising to awkwardly hug MJ before she could stand. “It’s great to see you. I know it means everything to Peter that you could be here.”

“I wouldn’t miss it.”

After a minute or two of asking MJ how her volunteering was going, she dove back into the topic she’d started with Pepper. Happy caught MJ’s eye.

“Can I talk to you a second?”

“Sure.”

She stood and followed Happy to the array of hors d’oeuvres. Eating was a great cover, in her opinion, and she would’ve praised his location choice if her mouth wasn’t full of something delicious. It was the exact correct proportion of crunchy to spicy, like it’d been designed in a lab. Maybe the idea of that would’ve scared some people, but a lot of the shit in this compound―and a few of the people―had been designed in a lab to some extent, Peter included. MJ didn’t have any prejudices against that. Her boyfriend’s powers were awesome. And useful… She zoned out a minute, remembering a particular night…

“―and, I don’t know, I think it’s becoming a real problem. At first, there was just a little awkwardness, but now, things feel so distant.”

MJ blinked.

“What?” Clearly, she’d missed something. “With proving Peter’s innocence?”

Happy’s expression was incredulous.

“No. Were you even listening to me?”

“You said ‘a real problem,’ so I guess I just assumed,” she replied flatly, giving him a dead-eyed stare.

“Yeah, well, your boyfriend’s not the only one with problems. I need your help with May.”

“Have you told her you’re in love with her yet?”

He winced and shushed her.

“There hasn’t been a good time.”

MJ took a cheesy bite of something that left her fingers greasy. She kept her eyes on Happy as she reached for a napkin.

“How come?”

“I think she’s going a little nuts here, to be honest,” he said quietly. His gaze went past her and she assumed he was looking at May. “At least Peter has the regimen of schoolwork to give him some structure. May’s the kind of person who needs to stay busy.”

“When we were texting, Peter mentioned she was trying to help prove him innocent. Looking through some footage or something?”

“Yeah, that’s right. Did he tell you we recovered drone pieces from London? Mostly junk, but a couple had projectors that weren’t too far gone to be repaired.”

“But they weren’t cameras,” MJ said as her eyebrows drew together in confusion. “That one’s good,” she added, pointing Happy towards an hors d’oeuvres that looked too pretty to eat, but was totally worth it.

He tossed one back and, chewing, confirmed, “No, but they had a built-in guidance system that allowed them to stay in formation.”

“I thought they were programmed ahead of time,” she countered again.

“ _Yes_ ,” Happy agreed, his tone growing impatient, “but they had to maneuver out of the way of obstacles. Look, it’s not exactly footage, but there’s some data, a record of disruptions to the programmed path of each drone to allow for independent adjustments. It’s more like… a map. And we’re checking the detours.”

“So, if some parts were still working, still recording, when you guys went in to recover them, you think there might be information about disruptions? After Peter left Beck but before his death?”

“Right. What we’re hoping to see is anyone approaching Beck. A witness, an accomplice―”

“An accomplice to what? The whole drone production? I thought those people were caught.”

“Maybe to Beck’s death,” Happy said with an intense look. “Maybe just somebody to collect that last footage and send it along to the media.”

MJ wanted to fill Happy in about that, the theories she and Cindy had been working from, but she recalled that there had been a point to this conversation and they’d wandered pretty far from it.

“May,” she reminded him and he sighed, nodding heavily. “This isn’t keeping her busy enough?”

“No. Her other pet project is Pepper. She’s mothering her. You saw.”

“Well…” MJ began thoughtfully. “She probably feels really powerless over Peter’s situation. She’s his guardian, right? Supposed to protect him. I’m sure she just wants to feel like she’s in control. Not over Pepper, just… I don’t know, her own life?”

Happy snorted an unhappy laugh.

“How can I get in the way of that?”

“It’s simple. May needs you. Don’t be an idiot.”

“Watch the tone.”

MJ shrugged.

“Be there for her. If you think she’s getting too fixated on something, distract her. And then…” She trailed off, waving her hand.

“And then?” Apparently, Happy wasn’t quite following.

“And then tell May you love her. Don’t overthink it.”

“Right… Where are you going?” he called. MJ had given him a final nod and walked away.

“I’m not here for you, remember?”

Peter had wandered over to talk to his aunt and MJ stood close until her boyfriend smiled at her and wrapped his arm around her waist. She was still hesitant sometimes, unsure when it came to cuddling up against him when there were other people around. Luckily, _he_ never thought twice about it―always sensing when she was there and immediately pulling her close, like a reflex. While he started talking to May and Pepper, she tentatively lifted her hand to his chest. May had made him dress up for this; Peter was wearing his nice shoes and a blazer that was a little too tight in the sleeves (something inside her clenched desperately). No tie though and MJ swallowed as her gaze plummeted from his face down the length of his throat to the dip between his collarbones exposed by the few buttons left undone. She could feel his heart beating steadily under her palm; the temptation to start undoing his buttons was strong and she knew she should really drop her hand. She should. Any second now.

“Cake?” May suggested, standing and glancing around at everyone with expectantly raised eyebrows.

MJ exhaled in a gust that had Peter turning his head to look at her with concern. Not meeting his eye, she just said, “Come on,” and they headed over to the cake, the rest of Peter’s guests (were they still his guests if he was staying at their compound?) closing in around them.

“We’ll just need a knife…” May started to say.

“Here,” Romanoff said, offering her hand and the sharp blade that rested flat along her palm.

“I hope you were keeping that someplace sanitary,” Tony commented wryly.

Smirking, the spy cocked an eyebrow.

“A lady never tells.” When May hesitated, Romanoff assured her, “It’s clean, seriously. I keep my weapons spotless. You could eat off of any of them.”

“Bruce?” Tony asked teasingly. “Can you corroborate?”

“Just light the candles, Tony,” the doctor suggested, face a little pink.

May set the knife down next to the platter the cake was resting on and sunk the candles through the frosting, standing them up with only slight crookedness.

“There,” she said, clearly pleased. MJ smiled as she watched Peter’s grin.

“This feels a little traditional,” Tony complained, touching the flame of the lighter he’d been fooling around with earlier to each wick.

“Yeah, well, it’s not your birthday,” Pepper reminded him.

“Can we pretend it is later?”

 _For fuck’s sake_ , MJ thought. It was like being back at school, surrounded by her horny peers. Her mind flitted to Brad for a split second. Ugh. She hoped he’d grow out of whatever feelings he had towards her sometime before middle age. Not that that seemed to have worked for the company she was presently in. She caught Ned’s eye on the other side of Peter when her boyfriend leaned forward, contemplating the candles before extinguishing them. Damn, Ned probably wished Betty was in on the secret; he was the only one here without their partner. Still, he was beaming at his best friend.

“Make it a good wish, kid,” Tony suggested right as Peter drew in a deep breath. “You could use it right about now.”

MJ narrowed her eyes at him and he made a face back at her. Yeah, they got along.

“You wish for whatever you want,” May said, reaching behind Ned to give her nephew’s shoulder a squeeze. “Pie in the sky. Don’t let us influence you.”

She wouldn’t side with Tony Stark out loud, but internally, MJ agreed with what he’d said. When her boyfriend reached for her hand before leaning over his cake again―complete with seventeen glowing candles―she just hung on tight.

With a gusty exhale, Peter blew out every single one.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part two of the party from the birthday boy's POV and it's time for... homework?

XV

It was so good to see Ned and MJ that Peter hadn’t even been thinking about presents, but he got some pretty awesome stuff. Mr. Stark and Ms. Romanoff had collaborated on adding electric batons (like Black Widow’s) to his suit and while Peter’s mentor was going on about them, MJ had whispered that, in addition to the Shakespeare book, she’d also bought him underwear, but hadn’t brought it because… yeah. Underwear wasn’t the kind of thing you hand over in front of somebody’s aunt or Tony Stark. Peter didn’t need for there to be an UndieGate on top of the CondomGate Mr. Stark insisted on alluding to at every opportunity.

MJ’s second present was something private between them though, a secret that distracted Peter. He ate cake, but he thought about her, thinking about him, buying those underwear. He thanked everyone for his presents, but he thought about her, how she must have picked them out while knowing she’d eventually see him in them. Even catching up with Ned, he thought about her, what she might do if―

“I need your help,” Ned said under his breath. That refocused Peter’s attention.

“What? Why? What do you mean?”

Ned dragged him away from the rest of the party, loudly commenting on a bare wall because he was terrible at subtlety and lying (as if Peter was one to talk), until Peter shushed him.

“It’s Betty,” Ned confided.

“Is she in trouble?”

“No, but I kind of am.” Peter waited him out and his friend continued. “She’s mad at me because you’re Spider-Man.”

“I’m… not following.”

Ned sighed as if this was something he’d explained many times before instead of it being _literally_ the first time they’d talked in person in, like, a month.

“In Prague, I told Betty that Spider-Man was Night Monkey when he wasn’t but he, Spider-Man, was you, and so you should’ve been Night Monkey, except―”

“Except you invented Night Monkey, Ned, that was you.”

“Well, I think it was kind of a collaborative―”

“Oh no, it was you who made up that name, and then Betty was yelling it at me, people heard it, and the next day, I’m ‘Night Monkey’ on the cover of newspapers across Europe!”

“Probably in America too,” Ned muttered.

“And in America too!”

“Ok, but that isn’t the problem right now.”

“Trust me,” Peter swore, “Night Monkey isn’t even on my radar right now.”

“…But _you’re_ Night Monkey.”

“Yeah, I _know_ , Ned, I meant… never mind. Betty?”

“She’s upset that I lied to her.”

“So she knows you knew that it was me in Prague?”

“Yeah, just, with the pressure of keeping this big secret from her about knowing you were hiding out here and still talking to you online, I had to leak that other tiny secret.” Ned’s expression was pleading. Peter sighed.

“I understand.”

“I didn’t say how long I’ve known you’re Spider-Man, I just said, ‘a while,’ and she said, ‘babe, does that mean you knew when we were in Europe?’ and I said, ‘yeah, babe, I did know then,’ and then she said, ‘you made me yell for Night Monkey, like an idiot?’ so I said, ‘babe, you know there’s nothing idiotic about asking for help, that was very courageous of you,’ but then _she_ said―”

“Ok, I get the point.”

“And now we might never have sex,” Ned concluded. Out of nowhere, as far as Peter was concerned.

“Ummm…” His voice trailed off, high and squeaky and uncomfortable. “Is this part of the problem or is this, like, an unrelated thing that you guys might want to keep between the two of you?”

“Peter, in the web off Betty and I’s relationship―”

“Please don’t use a metaphor that makes me feel involved in this.”

“―all strands eventually connect and separate. The web is perpetually spun and rewoven, the pattern intricate, yet simple, every moment splitting off into countless others, all essential in the overall structure.”

“That’s great, man.”

“We are both the spider, and the web.”

“Good for you guys.”

“Help me.”

“Help you have sex with Betty? Dude, don’t ask me that,” Peter requested, face scrunched.

“I don’t need help with that. We’ll figure it out. We’ve got foreplay down to a science,” Ned assured him.

“Congratulations,” he offered weakly.

“I just need to rebuild the trust.”

“Ok… well… talk to her?”

“Peter! I need details and a step-by-step plan! I need us to be able to bury Night Monkey forever and never have its spectre hang over us again.”

“Dude, I’m not _dead_.”

“Oh, so _now_ you want to identify as Night Monkey? Where was that attitude when I had the idea for depicting Night Monkey’s thrilling backstory in the format of a graphic novel?”

Peter would not engage with him in the graphic novel debate a single time more, but he knew the real issue―healing this rift between him and Betty―was a big deal, big enough to hit below the belt by bringing up the contentious topic of Night Monkey.

“Seriously, I don’t know if I have any good advice for you,” he said honestly, feeling his shoulders relax from their defensive hike. “The only big issue MJ and I have had―just between me and her, I mean, not this Mysterio shit―was when I was keeping Spider-Man a secret from her. We solved that by me telling her the truth.”

“I thought she figured it out. That’s how _she_ tells the story.”

Peter laughed and glanced across the room to where MJ was sitting with his aunt. His girlfriend was wearing a pale blue dress with wide straps that crossed between her shoulder blades. She looked so beautiful it made something ache inside him. He had to get back to her―in the larger scheme of things, with cleaning up Quentin Beck’s mess, but also in the _right now_ sense. He wasn’t not touching her shoulders, her hands, the part of her back the dress left bare. Days like today, chances like this, were precious.

“Yeah, I guess she did,” he admitted with a smile. Abruptly, he snapped his fingers. “You know who you should talk to? Dr. Banner.”

“Talk to Dr. Bruce Banner. One on one. With Dr. Banner.” Something in Ned was clearly short-circuiting at the prospect. “About… physics?”

“About _Betty_ , man. Dr. Banner’s actually incredible at relationship advice, though he’ll try to tell you you’ve got the wrong guy and be all humble about it. He’s totally wise, Ned, I _swear_.”

“But he’s… I mean, he’s…” Ned grasped Peter’s arm and stared at him with wide eyes. “He’s _Bruce Banner_.”

“Yeah.”

“He’s a genius.”

“That is the consensus.”

“He’s the _Hulk_.”

“So just don’t make him angry?” Ned’s eyes went even wider with fright. “Bad joke, sorry. You can do it though.”

With that promise, Peter began to steer his friend towards the bar, which Dr. Banner was currently standing behind, looking around for something. Hopefully not a lighter, unless he wanted to face Pepper.

“See?” Peter said quietly. “He’s alone right now. This is perfect.”

“Before, I had you and Mr. Stark there. I can’t talk to him by myself,” Ned hissed back.

“You can do anything. You’re my guy in the chair.”

“Guy in the chair,” Ned repeated to himself as Peter released him like a dad letting go of the back of their kid’s bike after the training wheels were taken off for the first time. He watched proudly as his friend approached the bar. Then, he turned to locate MJ.

How could he get her out of there without it being, like, incredibly suspicious? Almost everyone in this room fell into one of two camps: people with enhanced or highly-trained senses who’d see and/or hear them leaving (like Ms. Romanoff) and people who were probably already on alert just because, by nature of MJ being here, they knew he’d want to get her alone (like May). Because Peter very much _did_ want to take his girlfriend someplace private. Even when he was able to look into her eyes and hold her hand, there was so much fucking longing in him. It was almost… _Shakespearean_. Wait. That was it.

“Come on,” he said next to her ear. He’d strode over to MJ without really realizing it.

It took him half a minute to realize she’d gotten up as soon as he’d spoken rather than asking _why?_ or _where?_ ―seemed like they might have been thinking along the same lines.

“English project,” he mumbled to his aunt when her eyebrows lifted challengingly.

“Well, Peter,” she began, darting a look from his face to the desperate interlocking of his and MJ’s fingers, “I don’t know if―”

“Oh no,” Happy cut in, “you better let them go.” Peter jerked his chin back in surprise, but MJ touched her free hand to the back of his, like she was telling him to wait. “We were talking earlier and it sounds like the kid needs some serious help on his essay.”

“I thought you just submitted that essay?” his aunt demanded.

“Uh, other essay,” Peter lied, voice shrinking by the second.

Happy caught his eye and gave his head a sharp jerk that seemed to say _beat it, I’ll cover for you_. He returned the gesture with a small nod. He glanced sideways at MJ and they walked towards the door. Their pace was faster than usual―especially for his girlfriend, who, it had to be said, was a bit of a saunterer―but slower than running, which was what Peter wanted to be doing.

Mr. Stark slid in front of them before they could get there. Of course.

“Wow, you didn’t even spill your drink,” Peter remarked tightly, internally bracing for Thor knew what kind of teasing was about to come their way.

“That’s because I always,” Tony said, gaze shifting from him to MJ, “think things through. What about you, Pete?” Eyes back to Peter. “Did you think this through?”

“Yes?”

“I’m going to look over his English assignment,” MJ cut in. Good thing, Peter had nearly blown it there.

“What assignment?”

“Essay,” Peter corrected, mentally scrambling, scraping almost-true things together to build on the fib Happy had set him up with.

“You turned in that essay, I thought, unless you’re a big liar.” Mr. Stark narrowed his eyes at him, sipping his drink with aggressive casualness.

“Um, yeah, this is for the next essay.”

“You haven’t started working on it yet.”

“Have too!” Peter protested.

“Have not, FRIDAY has access to all of your school files.”

“That’s invasive,” MJ noted.

“It’s pre-emptive,” Tony argued.

Peter kinda enjoyed the look on his face: like he was Tony Stark and he could do what he wanted, but that he was also a little bit scared of Peter’s girlfriend and how things tended to go her way when he made the mistake of going toe to toe with her verbally.

“And what are you pre-empting?” she wondered, tone flat and judgemental.

“A breach,” he said vaguely, with an equally vague flutter of his hand.

“You think Peter’s going to cause a security breach by doing his English homework?”

“Things have a habit of happening _to_ us,” Tony informed her, “in case you hadn’t noticed.” _Oh no_ , Peter thought, _don’t start talking down to her_. “It has nothing to do with me not trusting this young man right here―” He grabbed Peter’s shoulder tightly. “―and everything to do with… seed dispersal. Seed dispersal,” he repeated to their uncertain faces. “When plants evolve to use animals and their surroundings to their advantage, carrying them further, possibly to more viable conditions, to serve the good of the species.”

“So, in your analogy, Peter’s a squirrel or something.”

“I mean…” Mr. Stark paused to study Peter’s face. “…it’s hard to get past the alias, but, yeah, I’m definitely thinking more squirrel than spider.”

“And you think somebody’s going to infiltrate… his homework,” MJ clarified.

“Yeah, but the thing is, it wouldn’t just be his homework. No, because he’s tied deep into the compound network now. What I’m guarding against is someone, some weed, sneaking their seeds in through the kid’s homework with the hopes that it will land in our network and do what weeds do. What do weeds do, Peter?”

“Grow?”

“Then this is a good idea,” MJ stated before Mr. Stark could keep going.

“What is?” he demanded, petulantly crossing his arms at having the roll he’d been on interrupted.

“Me looking over Peter’s essay with him. I’ll let you know if I see any incongruously labelled documents. You know,” she prompted, “anything that really screams ‘bad guy.’”

“This is a serious issue,” Tony insisted, pointing a finger at her as she rolled her eyes and tugging Peter to the side so they could skirt around him. “ _I know what you’re doing_ ,” he hissed as Peter looked back with a helpless smile.

“Essay!”

“Liar.”

“Aw, come on, Mr. Stark. Don’t you trust me?”

“If you’re gone more than fifteen minutes, I will tease you so hard you’ll miss the early days of CondomGate.”

Peter laughed, but the second he and MJ were around the corner, all joy fell from his face.

“We’ve only got fifteen minutes,” he told her. He figured that was warning enough for scooping her up and springing down the hall to the elevator in two long bounds that culminated in a front flip. “Oh,” he said when MJ’s hand clawed his shoulder and he felt her heartrate skyrocket, “sorry.”

She pushed the hair out of her face and he set her on her feet inside the elevator with a nervous laugh.

“I guess you’re banking on me speedreading your essay.”

Peter’s face fell. They were actually gonna do homework? What? That wasn’t the plan. Hadn’t she understood? He’d thought…

“Kidding,” his girlfriend said, smiling smugly. She gestured at the control panel. “So, which button am I pressing?”

There were security cameras hidden all over the place, so Peter kept his hands to himself and MJ walked stiffly at his side. Stiffly, but _quickly_. He hoped Mr. Stark wasn’t counting their travel time into the 15 minutes.

Once they were inside his and May’s apartment, he went straight to his computer. He just knew Mr. Stark would check. _There_ , Peter thought, opening a blank document and immediately saving it as ‘Essay 2.’ Tony could check the time stamp. But maybe Peter should throw down a few jot notes, in case he actually opened the file and took a look. He didn’t sit, just wheeled his chair aside and tapped out a handful of the stupidest, least-informed sentences that had probably ever been written about Shakespeare’s work, but he was distracted from rereading them because MJ was, apparently, not interested in waiting.

Her arms wrapped around him first and Peter laid a palm on the back of one of her hands, accepting the hug. Except it wasn’t a hug. MJ undid the two buttons of his jacket and shook his hand off to smooth both of hers up his stomach while the blazer hung open. He laughed under his breath. When she got to his chest, she probably felt his heart racing. It wouldn’t be hard to. With care, she worked her hands beneath his jacket at the shoulders and stepped back, sliding it down his arms. Peter didn’t change his stance, but he looked at her over his shoulder, watching her drape the blazer on the back of the chair he'd pushed out of the way.

“What are you doing?”

She shrugged, nonchalant.

“You know how my mom raised me about nice clothes. I cannot, in good conscience, cause a wrinkle.”

“Well,” Peter said, heart kicking up again as MJ left the jacket and wrapped her arms around him from behind again, “I appreciate your respect for my birthday suit.”

He would’ve laughed at his own joke if he hadn’t suddenly been short of breath; she was fingering the trail of buttons, teasing her fingertips through the gaps in between to stroke his skin. After the teasing, MJ started unbuttoning from his neck down and Peter closed both his eyes and the disaster of a fake essay at the way her fingers were grazing his sternum.

“I’m a big fan of your birthday suit. As you know.”

Abruptly, one of her hands dropped straight to his crotch, giving his hardening erection a bold squeeze. He spun and her palm resettled on his hip. She grinned in his face.

“Ok,” Peter said, “message received.”

“We’re supposed to be hurrying,” she reminded him between the frantic kisses he was giving her, hands jumping back and forth from cupping her face to unbuttoning the rest of his shirt while also walking her backwards towards his bed at the other end of the room.

MJ gripped the back of his neck and hung on as he worked her lips apart with his before deepening the kiss with his tongue. He was trusting her grasp to make sure they couldn’t drift apart from each other and switched to focusing on his buttons. He flung his undone shirt to the ground with her disapproving sigh, but he fixed it―the sigh, not the shirt―by pressing his palms to her breasts over her dress. Her dress… with the complicated criss-crossing straps at the back and, oh Thor, how was he going to figure this out, get her undressed and redressed and have time to―

“You’re on the bottom,” MJ informed him. “Dress is staying on.”

 _Yeah_ , he thought, _that’ll work_. Her hands went to his belt, flicking it open with an efficiently that startled and aroused him.

“You’re awfully bossy for it being _my_ birthday,” he quipped, grinning and then gasping as she unfastened his pants.

“Don’t even pretend that’s a complaint. I know what you like, _Spider-Man_.”

MJ smirked and sat on the edge of his bed, making sure not to crumple the skirt of her dress. She leaned forward and unbuckled her sandals. Peter went to sit beside her, but she narrowed her eyes critically. He rolled his before bending over and untying his shoes where he stood. He set them and his socks, bunched up inside them, aside before dropping his pants, tossing them over the back of the chair―there, that was… semi-neat―and returning to her in nada but his tented boxers.

“Happy?”

His girlfriend flicked her hair to one side and looked up at him, eyes slow on their journey north.

“Very.”

Peter climbed over her and MJ wriggled back, forgetting a little bit about her dress, as they kissed hurriedly, like they were going for quantity over quality. Sort of; her mouth felt amazing on his and the roughness of their kissing, the slide of their mouths back into position when they missed, the way her teeth caught his lip, all had him physically aching for her. When they reached the approximate middle of his bed, Peter threw himself onto his back and grabbed MJ’s thighs. Staring down at him with a look that burned like the candles he’d just blown out― _oh shit_ , he thought, _don’t think ‘blow,’ there isn’t time!_ ―she raised herself onto her knees and reached under her skirt. He could tell she was about to yank her underwear off so they could get straight to it, and the sudden practicality of the encounter upset him.

“Whoa, whoa, wait, hang on,” Peter pled. She sighed.

“ _Peter_ , we don’t have…”

But he was running his hands up her bare legs beneath the dress. He smiled at her in satisfaction when he moved his hands to her inner thighs and her breathing turned heavy. Yeah, this time they couldn’t do everything, which was kinda the story of their lives lately, but Peter cycled through a few of the things he would’ve liked to do while he fit his hand between her thighs, cupping her over underwear that felt groan-inducingly satiny. (He did groan. Deeply. MJ reacted by reaching for his erection and stroking him slowly through his boxers.) In his mind, there was time to put his mouth there, drag her clit back and forth with his tongue the way she liked. In reality, Peter traced his finger over the crotch of her underwear, then hooked it over the edge, pulling one side, then the other inwards to catch between her labia. Her forehead scrunched until he gently tugged the material forward, making it rub against her clit.

“ _Peter_.”

It was a compliment, a warning, a plea, and a breath. MJ grasped the waist of his boxers and, after Peter lifted his hips to help, tugged them to his knees. She trailed her fingers over his length, then gripped and pumped him firmly. His abs tensed and he moaned, eyes fixed on hers. MJ bit her lip and leaned down to initiate a hungry kiss. Burying his free hand in her hair, Peter jerked the slippery fabric forward more quickly, feeling a damp patch every time he tucked it back into place. When there were little cries leaving her mouth and being trapped against his lips, he knew it was time to get her underwear off. Also, he was really fucking hard and he was going to lose his shit if she kept twisting her grip on him like that.

Peter yanked the underwear down to her knees, where she was still balanced. MJ broke the kiss and sat back, straightening her legs out get her underwear the rest of the way off.

“Condom?” she asked, almost absent-mindedly helping him out of his boxers because her gaze was concentrated on his cock.

“In my… jacket,” he panted. He reluctantly released her hair and stared at her legs as she scrambled over his to reach the floor.

“See?” MJ said, crossing to the chair and fishing the condom from his inside pocket. “This is why we’re careful with the blazer. This might’ve fallen out.”

“You’re right. You’re always right.”

She smiled, returning to straddle his legs and roll the condom on; Peter breathed hard and bit back most of his groan.

“I’m going to remind you that you said that when you’re not so horny.”

“Always horny for you,” he mumbled as she scooted her knees forward and his eyes went from her face to where she was lifting her dress.

“Could you hold this up a sec?”

“Sure.”

Peter held the fabric carefully, probably higher than necessary to get a view between her legs as she took hold of his cock and lined it up with her entrance. He could’ve screamed when the head slid through warm wetness. This was better. Both times that they’d done this since their fake breakup and real separation had been even better than he remembered this being. Fuck, she was… _fuck_. His eyes closed momentarily as MJ sank down.

“I have to… go slow…” she panted. “It’s been… you feel…”

“Take your time,” Peter encouraged. Fuck, fuck, fuck, she felt so tight around him. He needed the time to adjust as badly as she did.

“How long do we have?”

“Who fucking cares,” he said when her hips met his and everything inside of him turned over at the pleasure, the tiny flinch of her muscles around him.

“ _You_ will when Stark makes fun of you.”

That seemed like a long way off. He didn’t want to face the fact that they couldn’t have more than five minutes left.

“Stop staring,” she whispered. Peter’s eyes snapped up to hers and he realized he may have slightly zoned out watching the way she’d started rising and falling, watching his cock be swallowed up. He swallowed too. “If you drop the skirt, this’ll be faster.”

“I don’t want this to be faster,” he pouted, dropping the skirt.

“We don’t have _time_.”

Peter snuck his hands beneath it anyway, grasping her thighs and urging her forward and back as she leaned over him, bracing her hands on his shoulders. He thought she was going for his lips when she kissed his chest instead. The necklace he’d given her in London landed on his skin. It felt good. Solid. In the middle of the day here sometimes, he thought about her wearing it. Some nights, he thought about her wearing _only_ it.

“Wish we did,” he said against her lips when she lifted her head to kiss him.

“Me too,” she promised, bearing down and taking him faster. “Always do.” God, he wanted her to carry him home in the look in her eyes.

Peter skated his hand up from her leg to her abdomen, then felt downwards to find her clit. She moaned when he did and his hips bucked hard in reflex. _That_ made her call out his name and his entire body woke up like he’d been not sleeping but _dead_ until now.

He didn’t think about what Tony might say or about Mysterio or about how insulting most of Flash’s flirting was (did he flirt with every guy that way or did his history of calling Peter ‘Penis’ have something to do with it?), he just thrust up into MJ as she rode him faster. Her hands ran desperately from his shoulders to his neck, then down his chest and arms. Just before she came, she sat up and practically bounced on his lap with an, “Unnnh, Peter!” It was a damn good thing she orgasmed when she did, Peter’s thumb furious on her clit, because he was already emptying himself into the condom, neck arching as the back of his head pressed hard into his pillow. Her legs were trembling by the time she slowed to a stop and eased off of him.

MJ tossed his boxers at him and slipped her underwear back up her legs, but before she could get her feet in her shoes, Peter hugged her around the waist, still lying down.

“Thank you,” he said, kissing her hip through her dress.

“Don’t be such an idiot,” she suggested with a smile. “This was neither part of your birthday present nor a selfless act.”

“So what was it?” Peter demanded as she fastened her sandals. She slipped free of his loose hold and stood to smooth her dress and hair.

When MJ turned to glance back at him, he very smugly folded his arm beneath his head and brushed the boxers that had landed on his stomach off to the side. His girlfriend blushed hard and Peter grinned.

“Bound to happen,” she replied. She bent over him until their lips were just touching. “But happy birthday all the same.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week on _2 MJ, 2 Furious_ , MJ has an adventure she didn't plan for and it's decidedly more terrifying than making Brad show her around the _Bugle_!


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...but first, a teensy bit more Spideychelle time!

XVI

Stark was smug in his suspicion that they hadn’t been writing any essay, Romanoff was so _obviously_ certain that it made MJ too embarrassed to look her in the eye, and the thought of sitting next to May again after what she’d just been doing with her nephew propelled her to the other side of Pepper to spend the rest of the party jumpy with the constant feeling of being too _seen_. It still sucked when she had to go home. She hugged Peter hard, less afraid of wrinkling him now.

“I couldn’t keep my eyes off you,” he whispered next to her ear as they embraced. It lacked the urgent flirtatiousness of earlier; now it was sweet but sad and made MJ slump a little in his arms.

“We’ll figure this out,” she replied. She’d quit counting the number of times they’d thrown those words back and forth.

They separated and Peter and Ned did their lame handshake before folding together into a hug. Nerds.

“You’re not jealous, I hope?” Stark asked, sidling up beside her.

“The opposite. It’s nice to be reminded that Peter has normal friends, not just the weirdos he’s stuck in this place with.”

He snorted and MJ offered him a sly grin.

“Safe trip home, kid.”

“Try not to burn the building down.”

“Don’t worry, accidentally blowing it up is far more likely.”

“Good to know.”

Stark surprised her when he laid a rather paternal hand on her shoulder. She got the sense that it surprised him too, guessed he was still getting used to the pull of dad-type gestures as Pepper’s pregnancy progressed.

“Well, uh…” He lifted his hand and patted her shoulder twice. “Don’t be a stranger.”

“I won’t. Romanoff promised to sneak me in whenever I want.”

MJ left him wondering if that was a joke and went to Peter for one last hug.

“Text me,” he requested with those eager brown eyes. “If you have time.”

“I will. Don’t forget I exist when Flash starts laying on the charm.”

Peter groaned.

“Yeah right. I can’t even get him to say my name yet.”

“You making Flash say your name is exactly the kind of imaginary scenario that fills me with envy.”

“Fills you with what?” He gave her a devious little smile and tried to pull her close again. MJ laughed softly.

“Seriously, it keeps me up at night,” she teased back.

“I’ll keep you up at―”

Stark clapped his hands loudly and MJ realized he’d walked away and returned. Peter swallowed his words and cleared his throat.

“Uh, bye, MJ,” he amended, kissing her swiftly on the cheek.

“I’ll text you.”

“Ok.”

It was―no insensitivity towards the reason for Peter’s current exile intended―murder to walk away from him, but she and Ned headed out front to the driverless car that would take them back to Queens.

Ned was talkative on their return trip and MJ was hungrier for his nerdy thoughts than usual. He was such an essential piece in all the things that made up Peter that being around him sort of tricked her brain into missing her boyfriend less. As she listened to Ned, MJ found herself resting her hand on her cheek where Peter had kissed her. Ned verbally reviewed the relationship advice Dr. Banner had given him and she was pulled into the conversation; she hadn’t realized anything was wrong between him and Betty. He gave her the full story as they raced along the highway, using the word ‘babe’ with horrific frequency.

The car dropped her off at home, somehow knowing to wait until she got into the building, waving at Ned through the window. She sighed. It was tough being alone after having time with Peter. MJ trooped up to her apartment and found that she’d missed her mom; June had already departed for her night shift at the hospital. She’d left a note, asking MJ to text her when she got in. She did so, then, for a few minutes, she wandered through the apartment. She put on sweats after a quick shower―hanging her dress in her closet, ok, Mom?―and ate a slightly burnt and liberally buttered piece of toast. She wanted something familiar on her stomach after picking and choosing at the birthday buffet. Nothing else tempted her. She was too mopey to draw, too caught up in her own story to read, and uninterested in the noise of the TV. Suddenly, MJ had a thought. She could go over to the Parkers’ apartment. They’d left her a key and she’d promised to sort of be its caretaker, hadn’t she?

It wasn’t far and the sun was still up, if low in the sky, as evening rolled away under the horizon. Getting over there didn’t take long. Trying to be careful, the way she’d promised her mom and Cindy she would be, MJ had walked with her hood up and her eyes ahead, not taking her phone from her pocket. As the weeks had passed, she’d found herself overlooked by the media. Who cared if high school student Peter Parker had gotten his first girlfriend? Nobody wanted the innocent angle, no personal details that made him too accessible or normal or sympathetic. God forbid they fucking remind everybody that he was a real _person_ , whether he wore a mask or not. Anyway, these days, MJ felt more anger than paranoia when she went out, but it was still good practice to look like she knew where she was going and show that she wasn’t distracted by her phone.

The inside of the Parkers’ apartment felt safe and familiar. She exhaled, then flicked lights on. In their whirlwind exit, they’d left behind nonessentials like cleaning tools and products, so MJ vacuumed the floors, then lazily dusted as an excuse to spend time with the little artifacts of her boyfriend’s life. Shit, she was being pathetic. She drew a smiley face in the dust of a dark wooden end table and sent a picture to Peter with her spy-phone.

 _Your home misses you_ , MJ texted to go along with it.

 _I miss her too_.

She was analyzing that, wondering if it was mildly sexist of him to gender the apartment as female the way men gendered ships, when it occurred to her that he probably wasn’t talking about the apartment. Her eyes welled up. Stupid things were doing that too often these days.

 _Shut up, loser, I’m trying to purge my loneliness through cleaning_.

 _How else am I allowed to talk to you if I can’t be sentimental?_ he wondered.

_There’s always extending what we had to cut short today._

_You mean you wanna sext?!_

_I’d be open to it, if you’d ever want…_ MJ was typing when a second text popped up.

 _We totally should. That would be…_ A pause. _…incredible_ , Peter concluded.

She rolled her eyes, smiling. She’d been nervous, a bit, that he’d think it was gross or embarrassing. Then again, he knew she sketched him fucking her. So. There was that. She was a little too sad to try sexting out for the first time tonight though. It was just a guess, but she suspected nothing would kill a boner faster than a melancholy longing that crept in between graphic horniness.

 _Not tonight, but soon?_ MJ suggested.

 _Ok, soon_ , he replied almost immediately. _What are you doing now?_

_I know we just agreed no sexting tonight, but I’m walking into your bedroom._

It was the truth. She’d tried to stick to the spaces he shared with his aunt while cleaning, but she’d also brought over the other part of his birthday gift (underwear), still in the shopping bag, and wanted to leave it in his drawer for his eventual return.

 _I can’t believe I’m not there_ , Peter texted.

That said everything she couldn’t articulate. Wanting him to be there while she was so they could be together was part of it, but there was another interpretation that something told MJ he’d also intended. That it was strange how this room could exist without him. Sheets still on his bed where she’d made it neatly after his departure. Chair askew at his desk. Dresser drawers not shut all the way. There was a frank forlornness to a lived-in space that had lost its occupant. She didn’t take pictures in here. She couldn’t make this funny.

 _You will be_ , she replied. For both of them.

It took a few minutes for her boyfriend to respond.

_I gotta take a shower._

_Me in your bedroom, you in the shower, and yet, no sexting_ , she pointed out.

_Yeah, it’s pretty messed up._

_Go ahead_. MJ knew if she didn’t dismiss him, he’d hang around his phone. He was probably tired tonight. She was a part of that but lacked the energy to celebrate.

 _Ok. Text me when you’re heading home. And when you get there_ , Peter added.

 _Sure_.

And then it was just her and the room.

She stowed his underwear at the back of the bottom drawer, thinking ahead to the way his aunt might beat him in here and try to put away his clothes only to discover a mysterious pack of boxer briefs. That would be mortifying for both Peter and MJ. Probably May too. Lightly, MJ trailed a duster over the various hard surfaces of his room. _Fine_ , she thought. _I’ll stop kidding myself_.

MJ shuffled across Peter’s rug in her sock feet and pulled back the blanket on his bed, then the sheet underneath it. She crawled in, expecting tears, but holding it together as she wiggled deeper, adjusted her head on the pillow that usually cradled her boyfriend’s. Should she miss him even here, where her present self overlapped with his past one? _You’re tired_ , MJ told herself. _Things will seem better in the morning_. It was her mom’s promise to her, reaffirmed on all her tough days.

“You’re just tired,” she repeated out loud. Her eyes closed.

The buzz of the phone she’d forgotten about pulling from her pocket and setting on the floor next to Peter’s bed was a foreign sound. That was how MJ knew she’d fallen asleep. It was dark in his bedroom; she’d missed sunset, but hadn’t slept all the way to morning. Thank god. Her mom would’ve worried. The phone vibrated again, rattling against the floor and she squirmed across the mattress to peer over the side of the bed. She blinked in the glow of the screen. Someone was calling her. MJ picked it up and saw that it was Peter. Duh, of fucking _course_ it was Peter―he was the only one who had this number.

“Hey,” she mumbled, rubbing her eye with a knuckle. “I fell asleep. Did you worry?”

“Maybe a little,” he said. There was uneasy laughter in his voice that made her smile as she swung her legs over the side and straightened her back to stretch it before standing up. “Hey, uh, MJ? You’re still in my room, right?”

She frowned.

“Yeah, why? Do you need me to grab you something before I leave?”

“No, it’s, uh, not that, it’s just, um, I may have overreacted.”

MJ tensed a little. This could be nothing, or it could be a very big mistake. Peter kinda adopted the same halting speech pattern, interrupted by embarrassed chuckling, in both cases.

“To what?”

“To you not checking in.”

“Ok… but _you_ checked in. That’s what this phone call is. How can you have overreacted when you got me on your first try?” She yawned. “This is your first try, isn’t it? Did you call before and I slept through it?” The only things on the screen she’d paid attention to were his name and the button to pick up.

“No, uh, this is the first call. But I might have sorta told somebody you hadn’t checked in and maybe, between the two of us, we overreacted, and then―”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m warning you not to freak out when you walk into the kitchen and Ms. Romanoff’s sitting there.”

MJ sprang to her feet, phone instinctively clutched to her ear. Her heart raced regardless of the fact that the spy was their ally (slash friend slash fairy godmother?). She’d still gotten into a locked apartment with MJ while she was unconscious. It was kind of a harrowing thought.

“I love you,” she told him, leaning out the doorway to see light coming from down the hall. Well, at least Romanoff was kind enough not to scare the shit out of her in the dark. “I love you but you need to relax a little.”

“I was worried when I didn’t hear from you.”

“And now you know I’ll probably hear my phone the first time you call. So, you know, try that first next time.”

She rolled her eyes at him and clicked off the light she’d had on in his bedroom. She remained on alert as she crept down the hall, until she stepped into the kitchen. Romanoff stared at her across the table. Dressed all in black, like this was a mission.

“This place sucks,” the spy informed her. “They don’t have coffee?”

MJ shrugged as she waved in greeting.

“Maybe they packed it.”

“Packed what?” Peter wanted to know, still on the line.

“Nothing,” she told him, turning away for the weak illusion of privacy. “I’m safe. Romanoff’s here. I love you. Go to bed.”

“I love you too,” he said. She felt herself smiling.

“Happy birthday, Peter.” When MJ hung up, she turned back to Romanoff to find her walking silently towards the window. “False alarm. Sorry about my boyfriend being an overprotective idiot.”

“Yeah, well, I know how that goes,” she assured her, peering carefully out. “It’s like, hey, buddy, I was a trained killer long before the first time you ever turned green and mean.”

“So maybe the concept of overprotectiveness is more relatable than the specifics.”

Romanoff didn’t acknowledge MJ’s dry sarcasm, just tugged a compact pair of binoculars from her streamlined utility belt. As she pressed them to her face, MJ walked up behind her, staying back from the window because that seemed like the smart thing to do.

“You wouldn’t want to piggyback me home, would you?” she was just tired enough to ask.

“Too conspicuous,” the spy muttered, possibly to herself.

“I guess it would―”

“Not that. He’s still there,” Romanoff informed her. It didn’t sound bad when she said it. More like she was mildly amused. MJ was grateful all over again to have this extremely dangerous person on her side.

“There’s somebody down there? Like, watching the building?”

“Uh huh.” She dropped the binoculars. “Since before I got here. Come on,” Romanoff directed, striding past MJ. “Looks like we’re leaving the same way I got in.”

“The vagueness of that statement isn’t comforting.”

“Ah, no, you’ll love it.”

Romanoff’s grin as MJ put her shoes back on and grabbed the apartment key wasn’t comforting either, but there was only so much that it felt worth it to point out. She had to know she was kind of terrifying, didn’t she?

After they stepped out into the hall and MJ locked the door as quickly as she could, her guardian Avenger led her to the stairs. _Ok_ , she reasoned. _Stairs_. _Good idea. Multiple exit points_. The first nerve-wracking thing that happened was Romanoff heading _up_ the stairs instead of down.

“What?” she asked when MJ didn’t bound upwards with the same enthusiasm.

“Normally, I… exit a building from the ground.”

“Well, then you don’t know what you’re missing.”

The words were teasing, but the spy’s tone had grown serious. She was definitely prioritizing their flight― _hopefully not literal flight_ , MJ thought―over camaraderie. MJ recalled the feeling of walking into the kitchen and getting the sense that this was being treated as a mission. Ok, she’d attempt to keep her shit together and try not to impede Romanoff’s process after she’d been good enough to come all this way to make sure MJ was safe.

They got to the roof and there was no magical Dahlian glass elevator or rooftop-to-rooftop two-seater stealth plane. She followed Romanoff as close to the edge as she felt comfortable with―meaning, she stopped several yards away.

“Get over here, Jones,” the spy instructed.

MJ knew that she was taking steps forward because Romanoff (and the edge) became closer, but she could barely feel her feet as she moved. Surely her feet would never betray her like this.

“This is high,” she pointed out. Pure decathlon-captain brilliance.

“We’ll be down in no time.”

“I’m starting to think you’re not even _trying_ to be comforting.”

Romanoff shrugged and turned to her, apparently finished with whatever she’d been doing―MJ was too caught up in the realization that they were possibly about to leap from a roof to pay close attention. She started strapping MJ into a harness, extracted from a bag she’d left stowed up here.

“What are you worried about? Talk me through it,” the spy urged, eyes on her task.

“We’re up here. The ground’s down there. Unlike Peter, you can’t catch me with webs if I fall.”

That was as detailed as it was going to get. Blatant and straightforward was all MJ had to offer at this moment.

“I don’t need to catch you because I’m not gonna drop you,” Romanoff promised. “You’ll be attached to me and I’ll be attached to that.”

With that, she walked back to what she’d been preparing and MJ took wobbling steps after her. It looked like a zipline, stretching down from where they stood, sleek and not catching the light from neighbouring windows in a way that told MJ it wasn’t some outdoor family adventure zipline.

“Don’t overthink it,” Romanoff suggested, grabbing the bag and hooking the two of them together with a _click_ that MJ didn’t have time to source because they were already falling off the building.

She was very proud of herself for not screaming, and for her rescuer ( _was_ it a rescue? Someone was watching the building so… kinda?) not gasping for breath when MJ clutched at her for dear life. It was actually for the best, she thought, that she’d wrapped her legs around Romanoff like a koala, because it meant the spy touched down first. A solid landing. MJ doubted she could’ve done the same; her knees felt weak as she stood on her own and let Romanoff swiftly un-harness her and bring the zipline down in a startlingly fast and tidy recoil. Everything was packed away and zipped in the bag by the time the experience was catching up to MJ.

“See? Piece of cake,” Romanoff whispered. MJ gave her a weary look. “First time’s always the hardest,” she promised, then grasped her arm to lead her on before she could say that she wasn’t planning on a second.

They’d descended away from the lookout Romanoff had spotted, landing half a block from Peter’s building. After a couple of circling detours that took them past foul-smelling dumpsters and a long stretch of broken glass that shimmered like spilled diamonds (MJ hoped no one had been hurt, but if they had, this was only one of who knew how many scenarios where their city really could’ve used Spider-Man), Romanoff was certain they weren’t being followed.

“Alright,” she said, halting in a shadow. An apartment building’s faded awning sheltered them from the yellow glow of the closest streetlight.

“What, do I walk the rest of the way by myself?”

It wasn’t an accusation, just an honest question. Was this the send-off? The ‘I trust you to find your way from here’ moment? Evidently not.

“Hop up,” Romanoff offered. She held her arms away from her body and presented MJ with her back.

MJ managed to keep the _oh my god, are you serious?_ to herself. She couldn’t claim not to be grinning when she gripped the spy’s shoulders and bounced her sneakers off the pavement though. Romanoff caught her legs, the bag of equipment dangling from her hand like it was nothing. They started down the sidewalk.

“Am I good? Should I reposition or anything?” MJ felt compelled to ask out of politeness, though her new favourite Avenger hadn’t complained.

“I gotcha, Jones,” Romanoff assured her. After a couple of minutes of walking, during which MJ relaxed her posture, feeling comfortable enough with their rapport to wrap her arms around Romanoff instead of clutching her shoulders, she added, “Just promise not to fall asleep. I don’t want drool in my hair.”

“I think that’s the one thing I might be able to manage tonight.”

They bobbed along another block and finally, Romanoff spoke.

“You did great, Jones.”

“Thanks.”

MJ wanted to trade her something for this―for the praise, the rescue, the disruption of her melancholy―but she didn’t feel like she had enough to offer on her end of the Mysterio investigation yet. Just what she and Cindy had brainstormed, about the footage of Beck accusing Peter arriving at the _Bugle_ from a trusted source. A theory. Less tangible than a lead and definitely less tangible than the feeling of being carried home on a spy’s back. Life had become more complicated since she and Peter got together, but some of the new stuff was pretty fucking cool.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MJ: my genius boyfriend is such a dumbass  
> Natasha: it be like that sometimes
> 
> Next chapter: sexting, a date, and a mild identity crisis! Fun!


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so happy everyone's been enjoying MJ's wealth of female friendships in this fic, but this chapter is 100% quality Peter time. (Although, I have to give you a semi-spoiler that I just finished writing a really great female friendship chapter for her with a character who has not yet appeared in the story at this point. Guesses? Hopes? Demands that will likely go unfulfilled?)

XVII

_So, what’s the protocol for initiating sexting?_

That was the text Peter had sent her. MJ had gotten up before eight this morning and it had already been on her spy-phone when she turned it on. Her face had grown hot and her heart had pounded with anxious excitement, but she hadn’t been able to respond then. Instead, she’d left her boyfriend hanging while she moved distractedly through her morning routine and went to volunteer at the hospital. That phone was her connection to Peter and she didn’t like to carry it around with her; she carried his message though, in her head, for the entire morning. She took long pauses during her sketches to ensure her Night Pad impulses couldn’t take over and make her drawings unfit for children’s eyes. By the time MJ was heading back home, her daydreams were superseding reality.

He'd sent it early. Had Peter woken up thinking about her? Had Peter woken up _hard_ thinking about her? MJ was wearing her Giants cap disguise, but she was sitting towards the rear of the bus and there were only a few other people on board, so she dropped the hat into her lap and pulled her hair into a ponytail before putting it back on. It was boiling outside, the bus’s air conditioning kicking on and off unpredictably, and this line of thinking was warming her even more, from the inside out.

Had Peter written and rewritten the single text, worrying about his phrasing? Was he scared that she’d changed her mind since they talked about it last night? Was his wording so formal because he was really feeling the opposite―needy and undone? _Jesus_. MJ flapped the neck of her shirt away from her body, trying to generate airflow. When she hadn’t replied, what had he thought then? She’d told him her schedule at the hospital, so he’d have realized where she was when she didn’t text back all morning. Had he taken steps without her? Had he researched sexting to prepare for her eventual response? (Would there be a log of it for Tony to tease him mercilessly about, or would FRIDAY be cool about this?) Or was it a different set of steps that Peter had taken? Had he unfurled his own imaginary conversation between the two of them? Would the real MJ’s sexts be able to live up to whatever this fantasy version of her had come up with? When she accepted that, whatever her boyfriend might’ve thought of, he’d then probably taken it beyond thought and gotten himself off to this made-up exchange, she shuddered and decided to get off the bus and walk the rest of the way home.

Her mom was at work (MJ’d had enough presence of mind to find June, who was just starting her shift, before she left the hospital), so MJ barreled straight for her bedroom and spy-phone the second she entered the apartment. She turned the phone on again (she’d been paranoid that it would make some kind of weird noise and her mom would find and see Peter’s text). Giving it a minute to receive any additional texts Peter might’ve sent since this morning, MJ peeled off her sweaty t-shirt and left it on the floor. She unbuttoned her baggy jean shorts and let them fall where she stood. No other texts arrived, so MJ scooped up the phone and texted her boyfriend.

_I’m standing in my bedroom in my underwear and I’ve been thinking about nothing but you for hours._

_How’s that?_ she tagged on.

There was a huge thrill in having sent that, in the fact that they were gonna do this and she’d been the one to start it. MJ kicked her shorts away and paced, tapping the phone against her sternum. It buzzed and she halted to check it.

 _Good afternoon to you too_ , Peter’d replied.

Oh. He was being normal. Should she try to backtrack? Ugh, but she wanted to do this!

_I guess it’s just me who’s wound up about this now._

_Not exactly_ , he texted back. _I was reading Lord of the Flies on the ceiling when I got your text and I kinda fell._

_Fell off the ceiling?!?_

_Yeah, but that doesn’t matter. What were you thinking about?_

_About your stupid text_ , MJ fired off, then winced. This was supposed to be sexy. They’d both moved on from the early days where her calling him an idiot was the only form of flirting she could manage. _I mean,_ she added, _I was wondering what prompted it. You sent it pretty early._

_I woke up with you in my head. I can’t remember what happened in my dream last night, just that you were in it, so I woke up and I had to be close to you somehow._

_I’m sorry I couldn’t get back to you right away._

_I understand. So that’s all you were thinking? Just curious about why I texted this morning?_

MJ snorted a laugh. Peter clearly needed zero time to forgive her for not responding; his mind was already on the task at hand. She guessed saying that thing about standing here in her underwear was quite an effective hook.

 _And,_ she explained, feeling heat climb her neck, _if you did anything without me._

_Maybe. But did you just wonder that or did you picture some different possibilities? Because I know you. You like to get to the bottom of things._

_Sounds like you answered your own question._

_If you don’t correct me, I’m going to think you were picturing me... Can I say this next part?_

_Yes,_ MJ immediately replied. She kept shifting where she stood. _Please._

_I think you pictured me getting myself off while thinking about you and it turned you on so much you had to go home and take all your clothes off._

_Well, not all of them._

_Would you?_ Peter requested.

_What difference does it make to you? You can’t see me._

_I just want to know that you’re naked._ Her heart surged in her chest at his words. _I couldn’t draw somebody from memory like you can, but I can still picture you._

MJ took a deep breath.

_Ok._

_Awesome. I just locked my door._

She laughed, light and hysterical. Reaching back below her shoulder blades, she unhooked her bra, then shook it down her arms.

 _I took my bra off,_ MJ updated him. _Underwear next._

Peter didn’t respond in the time it took her to shed the last of her clothes and she frowned at her phone.

 _Is this ok?_ she checked.

_Yeah, sorry, I was trapped in my jeans._

MJ laughed louder this time, at his honesty. Then, her breath snagged as it hit her that he was undressing too.

 _So far so good, right?_ Peter wanted to know.

 _Yeah, I think we’re better at this than you are at taking your own pants off. I’d help you,_ she offered. Anxiously waiting for his response, she pinched her lip between her index finger and thumb, releasing the second his text appeared on her screen.

_God, yes. You could do mine and then I’d do yours. In front of your mirror, maybe._

_Did you like that?_

_Yes. Because of how much you liked it. It feels good to know about something you like, so I can do that for you._

_Always so helpful, Spider-Man._

_Fuck! See? When you tease me with that? That’s why I need to have things I can do back to you._

_Things you can do TO me? Not ‘for’ me?_ MJ grinned as she sat cross-legged on her floor, back against the dresser with the mirror he’d referred to.

_Both?_

_If you’re waiting for me to argue, I’m not going to. The thought of you doing things TO me is..._ She couldn’t find the words to finish that sentence, so she sent it as it was.

 _...is making me hard?_ her boyfriend completed.

MJ drew in a long breath, staring at her phone.

Almost immediately, he followed the last text with, _Is this too fast?_

 _No,_ she typed quickly, not wanting him to worry. _Keep going. Are you going to..._ MJ lifted her thumb from the screen as she considered whether or not she could really finish the question. Fuck it. This was Peter, and he was clearly into it. She typed again. _...touch yourself?_

_Already am._

Jesus. She leaned forward, bracing her elbows on her knees as she read and reread and reread and reread her boyfriend’s message. She was too jittery to join him in enjoying this physically; the high of unraveling him with her words was intense.

 _Do you wish it was me?_ MJ asked. _Because I do._

_I always wish it was you._

_Really?_

_Always close my eyes and lie to myself that it’s your hand on me. Can’t remember the last time I did this and it wasn’t you._

_I wish we’d had longer in private on your birthday. I know I made you be careful with your good clothes, but I swear, Peter, I wanted to rip your shirt open and lick your chest as if it was covered in frosting from your cake._ She waited, but he didn’t interrupt, so she continued, breathing heavily at her own thoughts and slumping against the dresser. _I wanted to shove your pants down and blow you like you blew out those candles. I’m supposed to get to spoil you on your birthday, you know?_

_Fuck, what else?_

_I know you’d let me be on top for as long as I want, but I bet you want it the way it was that last time at your apartment too,_ she gambled. _Quick and rough on the living room floor. Don’t tell me you don’t want it like that, Spider-Man,_ MJ challenged. She was drunk on newfound sexting power. _I felt it for days._

_FUCK_

Her hands shook. She set her phone on the floor next to her leg and rubbed her trembling fingers briskly forward and back over her knees. She really doubted that had been a negative ‘fuck,’ but still, this was their first shot at this and―

_You’re incredible. INCREDIBLE. I came. FUCK. You were really in my head._

MJ exhaled massively in relief as she scooped her phone up and walked to her bed, falling face-down onto the cool cotton sheets.

 _I’m glad you enjoyed yourself,_ she told him, bunching up her pillow under her cheek and smiling into it.

_God, that is way too dangerous. I can’t even THINK. How am I going to do anything else ever?_

_Because you know how unimpressed I’ll be if you fail your English class._

_True. I wish you were in my arms._

_Sap._

_Only for you._

MJ rolled her eyes, but the look on her face was probably more pleased than she would’ve let Peter see if he’d really been with her.

 _You’re really bad at acting single,_ she pointed out.

_I’m not single, and neither are you. Ugh, sorry, that came out creepy and possessive, didn’t it?_

_I’ll excuse your creepy possessiveness for the rest of the day as long as you do the same for me._

_Uh, I’d love it if you were possessive, and you’re never creepy._

_I told you I wanted to lick your chest like it had frosting all over it._

_If that was you being creepy, I want more,_ Peter stated.

_I definitely can’t promise that it won’t happen again._

_No double negatives, my brain’s too fuzzy._

MJ laughed softly, fondly.

_Do you feel tided over? Until I see you again?_

_No. I’m coming._

_But... you just came?_

_I’m coming there. Will you have dinner with me?_

Smiling to herself, MJ rolled onto her back.

_Of course, you dork, but is that a good idea?_

_It’ll be fine, as long as you don’t mind going out to get the food while I snoop around in your room._

_I’ll agree to the first thing, but you are NOT snooping in my room._

_Just the sketchbook? Pleeeeease?_

_No way._

* * *

“There,” MJ told Peter, slapping her copy of _Lord of the Flies_ to his chest. “Pick up where you left off in yours.”

“I didn’t leave the compound to do homework!” he protested, turning to follow her out of her bedroom while she pulled on a thin sweatshirt and laced up her sneakers. He tossed the book aside.

“You could’ve come later after I’d already brought the food back.”

“No, I wanted to see you.”

She laughed and straightened up, grabbing her keys.

“Yeah, I got the urgency when you explained your outfit.”

MJ gestured at him from head to toe. He told her he’d snuck out of the compound in his black Night Monkey getup (a dumb choice, in her opinion, since it was a hell of a lot less subtle before the sun had gone down; Peter had been pretty thoughtless in his haste), but once again, Romanoff had caught up to him on the highway. Also once again, instead of driving him back like she was probably supposed to, she’d assisted. Unfortunately, assistance meant assembling a disguise to get him from the sidewalk (where Romanoff had planned to drop him off) to the front door of the Jones apartment. MJ had opened the door to see her boyfriend standing there in track pants, a very tight black shirt that read ‘STAFF’ across the back, and most entertainingly, a fake mustache. But, like, a good fake mustache. Romanoff had gone undercover as a man with a mustache? Wow, she really was the best, MJ thought.

“You sure they won’t be missing you?” she wondered, hesitating by the door. She wanted to do everything at once: stay with him, go get their dinner, be back already, have finished eating so she could sit on his lap and push him back into her bed.

“I have a feeling Ms. Romanoff will cover for me, but I don’t know, I think everybody was busy anyway.” Peter shrugged. “Mr. Stark was flying Pepper to an out-of-state doctor’s appointment, May and Happy were having some kind of date night on a different level of the compound, and Dr. Banner was around, but if Ms. Romanoff tells him he’s better off not interfering, he listens to her.”

“Ok. I’m... really happy you came all this way.”

Why the hell was honest affection making her shy when they’d done _that_ earlier? She guessed it was that they were meeting face-to-face so soon after they’d sexted and, because that was still consuming her thoughts, she assumed it was doing the same to Peter. And if they were both thinking about it, well, it made her feel a weird mix of self-consciously vulnerable and uninhibited. It balanced out as a little bit shy.

“I would’ve come a lot farther to see you,” Peter responded, grinning as he tugged her away from the door. “This is nothing.”

“Don’t be lame.”

But she was smiling against his lips by then. They exchanged several close-mouthed kisses, eyelids drifting down, but not quite closing. Suddenly, Peter inhaled deeply through his nose and kissed her more adamantly as he hauled her against him. MJ bumped forward into him, then backwards into the door of the apartment as he walked her into it, hand sliding up under the back of her t-shirt. She moaned against his mouth in surprise. Fingers slipping on the material of his borrowed track pants, she pulled his hips against hers. Wow, these things didn’t hide a thing, did they? Jeans kept his arousal more of a mystery unless she was looking right at his crotch, but through this flimsier material, she could feel him swelling and stiffening against her.

“Peter,” she huffed as he pushed his face into her neck, making her tilt her head to the side, “I’m supposed to be getting dinner.”

He kissed his way up to her ear, making her squirm.

“Do you have to?”

“Yes,” MJ insisted, though it trailed into a laugh when he nosed against her ear. “I’m hungry and so are you. I heard your stomach growl before. You’re going to set off car alarms.”

Her boyfriend sighed and stepped back. She followed his hand with her eyes are he rubbed it roughly over his face. Usually, it would be a bad idea for her to study his hand like this, especially when she was trying to tap the breaks on their make-out session, but it was safer than looking down. If she looked down and saw the rigid shape of his cock through those track pants, she’d never leave. Or maybe she would, but not before a lengthy detour.

“But people can just turn off their car alarms,” Peter suggested. It was a last ditch attempt and she grinned at him for making it.

“I’m doing this for the good of the community. You should understand that, Spider-Man.”

He groaned as she nudged him back, hand on his stomach, enough to get out the door. She jogged down three flights of stairs; the downward momentum was just about the only thing stopping her from turning around and going straight back to him. _After_ , MJ promised herself. _Later_.

She had her hair tucked down her back inside her sweatshirt, hood up. Her boyfriend’s nearness made her want to be extra careful―if anyone picked today to follow her home, she’d be leading them right to Peter, so it was important to be inconspicuous. Staying apart now that he was in the city (and in her apartment) was difficult, but deciding what to do about dinner had been easy. Despite their best intentions, they’d never made it back to the Mexican food truck where they’d had one of their earliest dates. They were supposed to go back together, and at night, Peter’d said when he’d brought her there that first time. Oh well. They’d had a different sense of romance at the time, MJ reflected as she walked to the tucked-away spot where that truck always parked. Maybe they’d grown and, maybe, in spite of the circumstances, that wasn’t a bad thing. A backdrop of strings of white lights was a nice touch, but they got all the atmosphere they needed just being together. Right now, that was the hardest thing to be. Together. But that was what MJ had, at least for the next couple of hours. She hurried.

The paper bag containing their food banged against her leg on the way home, but was still warm to the touch when she felt the side before unlocking the door to her apartment.

“Spidey, I’m home,” she sing-songed. Not loudly, because she knew he’d pick it up no matter where he was in the apartment.

No, what was loud was the way she screamed right after she’d spoken, the door slamming shut behind her as she swatted it too hard in fright.

“Yeah,” her mom acknowledged, staring across the room at MJ. “That’s about how I sounded when I walked in and found your boyfriend reading Golden on the ceiling.”

Peter waved from the couch, wearing a guilty, embarrassed smile.

“Golding,” MJ muttered.

“Pardon?” June asked, cupping a hand to her ear. It was a gesture MJ had noticed her mom shared with May Parker, only when her mom did it, it was way more sarcastic.

“Golding wrote _Lord of the Flies_ ,” she explained. “Golden was _Memoirs of a Geisha_.”

“Well, thanks for setting me straight. Could you do that for this situation too? Because I’m almost positive you told me a month ago that you dumped Spider-Man on his ass.”

“That’s what you said?” Peter piped up. “Ouch.”

MJ sighed and took their food to the kitchen table.

“Can we at least eat while we explain?”

“Only because I’m starving,” June agreed, joining her and rifling through to see what her daughter had bought. “Did you get me anything?”

“Of course. Though I figured you’d be eating later.”

“Grab the plates, would you, baby?” her mom requested. While MJ complied, June continued, “I’m sure you did, but I worked through my breaks today, then Nancy―you know her, nurse, lives a couple blocks east?―was leaving at the same time and offered me a ride.”

“Oh, that’s nice of her,” Peter contributed, popping in to throw a napkin down next to each of their plates. MJ saw her mom shoot him a suspicious look.

“Did you kill that man?” June demanded. All three of them froze in place.

“No.”

“Had to ask. Now eat your food before it gets cold.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Peter, what have I―”

“Yes, June.”

“That’s better. If I’m going to be harbouring an accused murderer for the evening, we’re at least going to proceed on a first-name basis.”

MJ wasn’t surprised when her mom dropped the topic of Quentin Beck after that. Peter (as Spider-Man) had saved her from a mugging, so she had no trouble taking his side and calling J. Jonah Jameson all sorts of names that made her daughter smile around her enchilada. MJ did worry if June finding out her daughter had been dating an Avenger all that time would make things weird, but her mom took it in stride. There was no awkward request for an autograph or threat to keep his dangerous lifestyle away from her precious baby. June really just accepted it, but then, she had known Peter as a human being longer and better than anyone who’d just heard Spider-Man’s real name on the news.

Maybe being able to judge what was precisely the right amount of information to have was something that came with maturity, because June seemed to recognize that they were approaching a point beyond which it was better for her to be ignorant. MJ lacked that ability to hold back if she was on the hunt for information. Her mother simply raised a hand to stop them when Peter began to reveal what was going on behind the scenes as more of the people who had his back were taking steps to clear this mess up.

“I don’t want to know,” June insisted. “I’m going to watch TV. I will be turning up the volume so as not to hear your discussion, which you may have in Michelle’s bedroom.” MJ started to look at Peter, but her mom’s voice stopped her. “The door of which will remain _fully_ open.”

“I thought you trusted Spider-Man with your life,” MJ teased.

“Do not make me embarrass you by saying what I don’t trust him with,” her mom advised.

With that, she left them alone and, after clearing the table and giving each other a look that seemed―to MJ―to say _do you think her permission to be alone in the bedroom is a trap?_ , they proceeded there anyway. The relief of not having been walked in on earlier provided a certain amount of reassurance. Still, when MJ sat down on the edge of her bed and shoved her rumpled bedding aside for Peter, he took a step forward, then said, “Uh, I better stand.”

“That’s probably a good idea,” she said slowly, “because after what happened against the door―”

He gave an awkward, end-of-his-rope laugh.

“Please. We can’t go anywhere _near_ talking about that or I’ll...”

“Me too. Ok,” MJ added, smirking at her boyfriend’s exasperated expression, “sorry. I won’t mention it.”

They stared at each other and his body seemed to sway forward slightly. She perked up in response, straightening her back and tilting her chin up. Peter groaned and forcefully marched to a spot as far away as he could get while remaining opposite her to talk.

“I have good news,” he blurted.

“That’s great! Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“Well, before we were... and before that we were, you know, _texting_...”

“Understood. Never mind. What’s the news? What’s up?”

“Progress,” Peter began. He made an uncertain gesture with his hands, before he got his words rolling. “We figured out the footage was sent electronically. I mean, obviously, we always knew it’d been sent electronically, but now we know Beck did it himself. There was no one else on the bridge, besides me, until his body was retrieved.”

“So, no loose end?”

“Right,” he agreed, nodding rapidly.

“But, wait, isn’t that potentially bad news? Like, you were definitely the last person to see him alive? That shit usually looks pretty damning, dork.”

“But that’s the thing,” Peter insisted. He reached out his arms to emphasize his point and she wanted to jump into them, would in a minute if this really was good news once she’d examined it from every angle she could think of. (Sure, somebody else had probably already done that before getting Peter’s hopes up, but an extra perspective was always a good thing. MJ didn’t need superpowers or a billion dollars in the bank to be a valuable member of Team Peter.) “We can prove Beck was alive when I left him.”

“How?”

“Karen! I didn’t even know she did this, but I guess it’s part of my suit’s combat protocol that she, like, identify hostiles so she can do the best possible job of predicting my needs if I start fighting somebody.”

“She identified Beck as a hostile?” MJ asked, checking that she was making the relevant deductions.

“Yeah, as soon as I fought through the drones and got in range of him. Karen tracked a ton of stuff―Beck’s speed, the way he moved, _and_ ,” Peter paused and she would’ve rolled her eyes at his dramatics if she wasn’t so eager to hear him finish the sentence, “his vital signs.”

“Oh my god. Oh my _god_ , Peter.”

MJ was up and off the bed, flinging herself forward into his arms just like she did on the day they’d been discussing. He hugged her tight. She felt the comforting weight of her black dahlia, hanging between them.

“This is it,” she stated, kissing his cheek hard. When he didn’t reply, she held his shoulders and sloped the upper half of her body away from him. “This is it, right?”

“Yeah,” her boyfriend confirmed. “Yeah, it’s all... This proves I didn’t kill him.” But he wasn’t quite meeting her eye. MJ frowned and tilted her head until their gazes connected.

“Why aren’t you excited?”

“Oh, Mr. Stark will probably take all the credit for clearing my name since he’s the one who programmed―”

“Peter?”

He sighed and, gently, shifted his hands up from her hips so he could more loosely wrap his arms around her waist and hold her close. It worried her, but she folded her own arms around him and laid her head against his as she waited for whatever he’d tell her. When he did speak, it was soft and right by her ear. Like he could keep the words small and just between the two of them.

“It’s proof, but if I use it, I officially confirm that I’m Spider-Man. We lose the option of playing that off as a random accusation, which wouldn’t have been easy, but apparently, somebody’s been working on that for me too, in case we wanted to go that route.”

“You keep saying ‘we’,” MJ pointed out. “I’m grateful that you have so many people helping you, but...” Her arms tightened protectively around him. “...what do _you_ want to happen?”

“It has to happen like this though,” Peter said, voice almost whining with agitation.

She knew the tone, it was the sound of her boyfriend thinking he was trapped, that his choices weren’t his own. It was bad enough when his enemies made him feel that way; she wasn’t letting him feel pressured by his friends.

“I’m sure they could find another way to prove―”

“But not a better one,” he said, stepping back from her slightly. “Not one this easy or, honestly, this true. Fury might be able to come up with some kind of crazy alibi for me or cause of death for Beck, but I don’t wanna lie.”

“I don’t want you to have to lie either,” MJ assured him. She felt for his hands and linked her fingers through his behind her back. “Is that what it comes down to? You lie about what happened and it protects your identity, or you tell the truth and everyone knows you’re Spider-Man?”

“Pretty much.”

She thought for a minute while his eyes seemed to rest on her face.

“They already think you’re Spider-Man, _and_ a killer.”

“Yep.”

“I don’t know what kind of super-spy spin-doctoring Fury would do, but I’m an informed consumer of news media _and_ a skeptic...”

“Right?” he encouraged, eyebrows lifting.

MJ held his eyes in a serious stare.

“If I didn’t know you and suddenly you were all over my TV and the internet for being an Avenger and a murderer, I’d be incredibly suspicious if both of those announcements just dissolved into nothing. I don’t think you can go from that kind of notoriety back to being Peter Parker. Someone will always wonder.”

“And at first, a _lot_ of people would probably wonder.”

“Probably,” she agreed.

“So, most likely, people would be more willing to accept that I was at least one of those things than neither of them.”

“I really can’t see you claiming to have killed Mysterio, but then, I don’t see you holding a big press conference and being all ‘I am Spider-Man’ either.”

“You mean like Tony did?”

MJ smirked in confirmation, but Peter deflated.

“M, what should I do?”

“Kiss me.” That got him to smile. He didn’t do what she’d suggested though. “I don’t know what you should do,” she said. “I’m not going to push you to confirm this big secret to the world if you aren’t sure. However, I know that you’re going to do the right thing.”

“Which thing’s the right thing again?”

“Whatever you end up doing, obviously. In the meantime, kiss me.”

She thought he might spring forward to kiss her, quick and playful, so when he moved closer in a measured, deliberate way, it made her swallow and her breath come short. Barely brushing, Peter traced her nose with his, his gaze lowered to her mouth.

“I love you,” he whispered. MJ could only nod in reply as his hands skated up her back, catching below her shoulder blades to press her near.

His mouth was light on hers at first, but she couldn’t stand it. MJ took his face in both hands and sealed their lips together, feeling the slip and then the tug as Peter responded. She worked her mouth more roughly against his, getting teeth, getting a little tongue, until his plunged into her mouth and set her heart plummeting before it soared again. Panting, they broke apart, but MJ still held him, running her fingers down his cheeks to find his jaw. Their foreheads rested together and the words came.

“I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Equal parts sexting and existential dread, just the way we like it!
> 
> Reality hits like a ton of bricks (ew, accidental near-rhyme) in next week's chapter. Luckily, MJ won't have to handle this latest minor disaster on her own.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coupla things! First, this chapter puts _Boyfri(endgame)_ over 50,000 words! Second, its predecessor, _Affinity War_ passed **60,000 hits** this week, which I'm still not over. As far as I know, most, if not all, of you did read _AW_ first, so thank you so much for that, for following that story into this one, and for your ongoing kindness in the comments. To hunter139, HiImMoral, Eowima, SpideyFics, Guest, seekrest, Gingerquery, and theslytherinterran, thanks for commenting on the last chapter!

XVIII

MJ’d always kept the number of supplies she carried with her to the hospital low―just a sketchpad, a pencil, a sharpener. Sometimes a pen, but she’d smeared more than one drawing with the side of her hand by accident, so a pencil was preferable. One that was resistant to breakage, with graphite that wasn’t too soft; she didn’t want the point wearing down right away or any pen-like smudges. The thing with kids was that they liked colour. MJ had never been trying to produce a masterpiece every time she did a cartoonish portrait of one of the young patients, but she had considered them finished after handing them off to the child or their parent or guardian.

Today, a six-year-old informed her that the drawing wasn’t complete. And proceeded to upend a plastic cup full of pencil crayons. Now, MJ was helping the girl fill it in like they were doing some kind of colouring book. Some of the parents and nurses found her a little unapproachable and sullen, she could tell. If they saw her like this, her reputation would be shot forever. Still, she traded the blue pencil crayon in her hand for a green one when the kid wanted to swap and she smiled the whole time, except when the two of them were being Very Serious Artists. The little girl had decided she was playing as Van Gogh after MJ conversationally mentioned his swirling skies and that charming anecdote about his ear. Oops. Sorry, parents. But hey, she figured, the kid was already in the hospital. If she was tough enough for that, she was tough enough for a _colourful_ (no pun intended) art history lesson.

Nevertheless, MJ dodged the parents without making eye contact when she stepped out of the two-bed, semi-private hospital room to answer her phone. She’d checked the screen before leaving and seen Brad’s name. (And rolled her eyes.) It was strange though, for him to be calling her, since they’d only texted before, and not much since he’d shown her around the _Daily Bugle_ ―it was possible that she’d been giving him short, discouraging answers on purpose―so curiosity won and MJ decided to pick up.

“What’s up?” she asked, hoping he wasn’t expecting any kind of apology for how she’d basically ignored him after using him to get to the _Bugle_ ’s files (not that he knew about that or would ever find out).

“Hey, MJ,” Brad said. His voice was hushed and rushed, making her frown as she leaned against the wall in the hallway. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

“You are, but it’s fine.”

What? That was just honesty. Really, he should’ve valued that in their acquaintanceship.

“Oh, sorry, well, I saw your picture.”

An innocent sentence, but she tensed immediately. There were so many possible meanings. A picture of her? A picture she’d drawn? Oh fuck, the Night Pad?! No, that was impossible. Still, she proceeded cautiously.

“What do you mean?”

“Someone, someone here, at the _Bugle_ , took a photo of you. Two days ago.”

Ok, that didn’t mean anything to MJ… unless some asshole from school had snitched about her being Spider-Man’s former girlfriend. If the paper was having a slow enough news day―meaning their ‘Avenger Turned Cold-Blooded Killer’ angle was wearing thin―they might have decided to branch out into probing into the lives of his friends and family. ‘Known associates’ was what they called them in the crime stories she’d lost her taste for since this started.

“On purpose? Why would they do that?”

“I didn’t know at first, I was just walking past somebody’s desk and looked down and saw this picture of you! But I asked and they said it was taken in front of Spider-Man’s, I mean, _Peter’s_ apartment building.”

“So, I was just walking past…?” She trailed off hopefully.

“You were going in. It was a series of shots. You clearly approach the building, open the door, and enter.”

“Ah.”

Shit. Now was a great time to come up with an excuse. Oddly, Brad didn’t ask. Maybe he was working up to flirting with her and didn’t want her to mention she’d been secretly continuing the relationship she was supposed to have ended over a month ago. If so, that was really fucking sleazy of him. Or, he just didn’t give a shit about Peter (probable) and had no interest in anything involving him, including the apartment building. She had thought it had been weeks since the press had given up on finding Peter there. They’d been able to slip into the building early on. Videos had circulated online of reporters on the low end of the integrity scale banging on the Parkers’ front door and receiving no answer. It had seemed like the news outlets had given it up as abandoned. All of them except the _Bugle_ , apparently.

“I guess the guy here has been photographing everybody going in and out, day and night. I wouldn’t have thought they’d have the resources to dedicate to that kind of a stakeout, but the paper’s doing pretty well these days. Bunch of new interns.”

“Destroying lives is good for business,” MJ snarked. She widened her eyes, gripping her phone as she remembered this was not one of the people she could reasonably defend Peter to. A nurse passed her in the hallway and MJ gave a strained smile. “That’s what capitalism’s about, right?” she covered.

“Right.” His _I’m trying way too hard right now, can you tell?_ laugh was reassuring, as was the confirmation that the Bugle wasn’t watching _her_ specifically, just the building. “Were you visiting Peter?”

The question came out of nowhere. It was a valid one, one a reporter would definitely have asked her at the time if the newspaper had dispatched one alongside their photographer, but she felt thrown. She’d thought they were speaking as friends―that word seemed like an appropriate compromise between how she felt about their dynamic (neutral, with moments of despising him) and how she pessimistically assumed he did (having a crush on her).

“No.”

It made MJ feel good, strong, to both protect Peter’s whereabouts and give an honest response. It was the kind of thing he would’ve done, she thought.

“Sorry,” Brad laughed. “Of course you weren’t. Had to ask.”

“You wouldn’t happen to know what they’re doing with the pictures, would you?”

“Well, I messed up a little.”

 _I will tear your head from your neck and your neck from your shoulders_ , she thought, gritting her teeth as she braced for the worst. She tried to keep her voice level through the tension.

“How so?”

“The guy whose desk the shots were sitting on noticed me staring at them, so I had to say something.”

“And that something was…?”

“I said you were my girlfriend. To cover for you,” Brad hastily explained. MJ knocked the back of her head against the wall. “I know it was unfeminist of me to handle it that way, trying to come to your rescue.”

“And to assume your credibility would carry more weight than mine,” she pointed out.

“You weren’t there to explain.”

“They could’ve called me.”

“You think so? You think they called Peter and said, ‘Hey, we’re thinking about outing you as Spider-Man, but if you deny it, we’ll let the whole thing go’?” She refused to respond to that. Brad sighed loudly in evident frustration. “Listen, if they’re not giving that courtesy to an Avenger, they’re not going to give it to some girl in a random photo. I mean, not that you’re just some gir―”

“Did it work? You… covering for me?” MJ said. She needed to cut him off. If she had to hear Brad tell her she wasn’t ‘just some girl,’ she would puke in this hallway and feel terrible about it. Not about forcing Brad to overhear her puking, but because someone would be called to clean it up.

“Yeah. Yeah,” he repeated, laughing in what sounded like disbelief. “They actually listened to me, listened to an intern. Probably the first time in recorded history, huh?”

“Seriously,” she agreed.

She would give Brad this small validation in exchange for not fucking up. He hadn’t exactly saved her ass, but he could’ve told everyone she was connected to Spider-Man, and he hadn’t. This situation, with him, was something she had to deal with very carefully. She had to play nice. But… he’d told people she was his girlfriend. She wasn’t prepared to play quite _that_ nice. A silence grew between them and MJ knew how to fill it.

“I know it’s super last-minute, but do you want to hang out today?”

“MJ, _yes_.” She kept her groan internal. “I’m done at two. Burgers?”

“Burgers,” she agreed. Burgers with a side of setting Brad straight about her _not_ being his girlfriend.

* * *

MJ called Cindy to see if she was still willing and free to accompany her to the very-much-not-a-date with Brad that afternoon. She was. Apparently, that was the benefit of working for your parent for the summer: you could leave for things like ‘friendship emergencies,’ which was how Cindy told MJ she’d explained her hasty exit. On the phone, they discussed meeting up with Brad at 2:30―a stupid time to eat, as far as MJ was concerned, but she was _not_ calling him back and making this a dinner thing. Dinner screamed date, so she was putting a metaphorical pillow over dinner’s face and smothering it. It would be an intentionally awkward in-between time with Cindy there to be their intentionally awkward third wheel.

Cindy met MJ near the fast food place she and Brad had agreed on. They’d walk over together and have a little time to talk beforehand.

“Can I trash-talk him?” Cindy wondered as they stood in the shade against the side of a building. MJ rolled her eyes.

“Not to his face.”

“Well that’s no fun. I guess the next thing you’re going to tell me is that subtle threats are off the table too.”

“We have to be _nice_ to Brad,” MJ insisted, though she could hear the lack of enthusiasm in her own voice.

“Hey, it’s technically nice if the threat is so subtle he doesn’t pick up on it.”

“Quit looking for loopholes. Brad might be...”

“Definitely,” Cindy agreed before MJ could select an appropriate adjective.

“But he’s still smart. He’ll know you’re threatening him or insulting him or whatever the half-baked plan is at this point.”

“There’s time to get it fully baked before we go over there,” her friend said, perking up. “I love a tight deadline.”

MJ looked at her. Cindy sighed.

“I’ll be as nice as precedent dictates.” It was a careful concession, so MJ narrowed her eyes.

“Precedent, as set by _me_ ,” she instructed. “And I plan on being nice.”

“Yeah, but is that gonna be, like, your _MJ nice_? Because you know you aren’t the friendliest person.”

They stared at each other―MJ’s expression unimpressed and Cindy’s eyes widening until she burst into laughter.

“I’m going to be the normal amount of nice that I would be to Brad at decathlon, without taking his potential crush into account,” she clarified. “I need Brad to not hate me or want to get back at me for rejecting him.”

“So, that means seducing him to gain his compliance is also off the table.” MJ full-on glared at her and Cindy held up her palms. “Gotcha. Just checking.”

“I think you and―” MJ lowered her voice. “― _Romanoff_ would get along.”

“Hey, whenever you wanna make that introduction, I’m there.”

MJ opened her mouth to reply, but mentioning the spy had made her think of something. The other night. Peter’s apartment. Romanoff raising her binoculars to look through the window. The stupid _Bugle_ photographer must have been who she’d seen! And of _course_ he would’ve seemed like a potential threat―lurking around Peter’s building at night with a camera, probably at least partially hidden. Man, that idiot was lucky Romanoff had handled the situation defensively instead of offensively.

“What is it?” Cindy checked. “Time to meet Brad the Bad? Breaking Brad? Bradley―”

“Yeah, let’s go. And please, no nicknames.”

Cindy pouted, but consented, “Fine. But only because you specifically asked.”

“That doesn’t mean anything I didn’t specifically ask for is ok.” Her friend shrugged lightly. “No loopholes,” MJ restated, and led the way to burgers and Brad.

The burgers couldn’t have cared less about their entrance, but MJ witnessed Brad’s expression rise and fall when he spotted her and then Cindy right behind. She hoped her face showed the mild interest of greeting rather than, ‘yeah, that’s right, Brad, I brought backup.’ More than that, MJ hoped Cindy was proud of her for asking for help and not going in alone. Although, her friend had given her that advice in the context of dangerous situations. Brad wasn’t one of those. He was just an _annoying_ situation that required delicate treatment, like when a favourite pen rolled under the fridge and she had to summon a fucking _legion_ of patience to fish it out again.

“Hey, man,” she greeted when she and Cindy wound their way over to where he was rising from a chair.

She couldn’t think of anything less romantic without veering into the realm of insults, which she had to avoid―on top of the established reasons to be nice―so that she didn’t open the door for Cindy to verbally tear Brad a new one.

“Hey, MJ. Cindy.” Brad directed his grinning mouth and disappointed eyes at each of them in turn. “I, uh, got this table,” he said, gesturing at the narrow surface and pair of chairs beside him, “but I guess there isn’t enough room for all three of us…”

“That’s ok,” Cindy chimed in before he could passive-aggressively uninvite her from his hangout with MJ. “We’re here at kind of an off time. It’s not that busy. How ‘bout over there?”

She was already leading the way. Brad gave an awkward laugh and waved a hand for MJ to go ahead of him. She gave him a tight smile and turned her back on him as she followed Cindy, trying not to feel weirded out by Brad’s presence behind her. At least he wasn’t attempting to escort her with a hand on her lower back or anything like that.

Cindy shot her a look, then darted her gaze back to the line of stools at the booth that looked out on the sidewalk. She was clearly asking if MJ wanted her to position herself between her and Brad, really push this buffer thing as far as it would go. It was tempting, but MJ needed to be able to actually talk to him and if they didn’t get this worked out today, she might have to see him again and the next time, she might not have Cindy. She jerked her head subtly and Cindy sat at the end, leaving the middle for MJ.

They took a few minutes to all gather their bearings, talking about summer vacation plans, work… anything but the massive Spider-Man questions hanging over the city: had he killed a man and where was he now?

“We should order,” MJ decided for the three of them when it felt like the small talk was gasping for a break.

There was a brief negotiation of who should get up and who should save their seats, but Cindy determined it definitively when MJ and Brad rose, lifting and stretching her leg, then smacking it down across their two vacated stools. She beamed at them, sandaled foot wagging back and forth on Brad’s stool.

“Go on. Chicken burger and fries, please,” she requested of MJ.

“Drink?”

“Nah.” Cindy unzipped her purse, but MJ shook her head.

She leaned in so Brad couldn’t hear her and whispered, “You’re doing me a favour here, remember?”

“If you’re paying, maybe I do want a drink.”

“Tough,” MJ quipped, this time motioning for Brad to go ahead of her towards the counter.

“Fine, then get an extra straw because I’m having a sip of yours!”

Without looking back, MJ flipped her friend off, smiling to herself.

In line, Brad took another shot at behaving gentlemanly, trying to get her to order first. MJ held firm and thought more about having to find a way to confront him over the girlfriend thing in a few minutes instead of the overhead menu her eyes were unseeingly scanning. Brad remained quiet, standing off to the side, while she ordered for Cindy and herself. (Thank fuck he hadn’t pulled something _really_ uncomfortable, like trying to pay.) She got a double-cheeseburger and onion rings; they were the kind of side item that put guys off. Except Peter. Peter always bought her onion rings because he knew she loved them. Once, when his late-night Spidey shift had run him ragged and he stopped by her place instead of going straight home, he still showed up with a carton of onion rings he’d gotten for her on the way. No man could compete. MJ was pretty sure she was going to be with Peter forever, whenever forever showed up (sooner or later didn’t matter―she was confident there was a right time on its way).

“Hey,” Brad began when they were both waiting for their food, oversized cups of soda in hand, “I kinda thought today was gonna be―”

“Oh, well, yeah, I’ve barely seen Cindy this summer―” ‘Barely’ was a relative term and therefore not a lie, MJ told herself. “―so, I thought this could be like a mini decathlon reunion.”

She gave him another closed-lipped smile like, _yes, it’s me, the first person who comes to mind when you ask yourself, ‘Who_ lives _to plan reunions?’_

“Great idea,” Brad commended her and, ouch, MJ could see the effort that was costing him. She shrugged in response and grabbed the tray of her and Cindy’s food as soon as it was set down. Brad’s had already arrived and he seemed reluctant as he picked it up and allowed their alone time to be abruptly concluded.

MJ was happy to walk ahead of him this time, anxious to return to her backup; Cindy slipped her foot off the stool and let both legs dangle as they approached. MJ gave her friend a gentle tug on her long ponytail to say hi again―also, to reassure herself of Cindy’s supportive presence.

As the noises of unwrapping burgers were dying down, the supportive presence spoke, words startlingly blunt: “So, you told somebody MJ’s your girlfriend?”

MJ gave her friend a castigating stare before whipping her head the other way to look at Brad. He’d paused with a French fry approaching his lips. He closed his mouth, swallowed nervously, then opened again and tossed the fry in like he was giving himself time to think while he chewed. MJ glanced at Cindy from the corner of her eye. She had her elbow on the ledge next to her chicken burger and was using it to brace herself as she leaned in Brad’s direction (never mind MJ sitting between them) like she was playing Bad Cop and he was the suspect she was going to crack like an egg.

“I was trying to help,” he finally said.

The fact that Brad had told someone MJ was his girlfriend was as much of the story as she’d related to Cindy before they met up with him. Her friend didn’t know the whole thing yet―the pictures, the stakeout, the excuse for being inside Peter’s building that MJ hadn’t yet concocted―because MJ had assumed they’d be easing into this. Should’ve known better.

“Help _who_ exactly?” Cindy probed, taking an aggressive bite of her burger after speaking.

Her words were heavy with the implication that Brad had said it to help himself. MJ happened to agree with that theory, but... why did their plan have to go out the window so quickly? Cindy might not have been insulting Brad, but she was interrogating him. That was clearly being hostile, not friendly!

Brad swung his gaze to MJ.

“How much of this story does she know?” he asked.

“Not as much as―”

“Hey,” Cindy interrupted, snapping her fingers to regain Brad’s attention, “‘she’ knows enough.”

“This is not what we discussed,” MJ hissed back at her. She was surprisingly glad when Brad put an end to Cindy’s cross-examination.

“I didn’t think MJ would want the pictures of her getting out,” he told Cindy.

“What pictures? Who took pictures of her? You?”

Brad looked exasperated and turned to his food for solace. MJ swiveled to face her friend, absently gesturing with an onion ring in one hand.

“Some photographer Brad works with―”

“I don’t really work _with_ him,” Brad clarified. “I’m just an int―”

“Can it,” Cindy instructed, then smiled at MJ. “Continue.”

“This photographer took pictures of me going into the building where Peter used to live and might’ve put them in the paper, so Brad tried to solve the problem―”

“I did solve the problem,” he argued.

“―by saying I was his...” She clenched her teeth. “... _girlfriend_. So they wouldn’t suspect me of, I don’t know, being in cahoots with an accused murderer,” MJ concluded with sludgy sarcasm.

Cindy laughed, then took a long sip of MJ’s drink with the spare straw she’d brought her.

“What, you guys think MJ’s, like, meeting up with Spider-Man to make secret murder plans?”

“ _I_ don’t think it,” Brad explained. He obviously didn’t understand that it was too late to attempt to extricate himself from the villainous hive presence of the _Bugle_.

“She’s just watching their apartment!” Cindy went on.

MJ closed her eyes and thought, _Fuck_.

“What?” Brad asked, setting his burger aside.

Peeking over at her friend, MJ watched Cindy realize she’d said too much. She’d gotten carried away by the superiority of knowing more than Brad, flaunting her knowledge. Her greatest strength on the decathlon team had just become, in MJ’s extremely biased opinion, her greatest weakness during what was supposed to be a _friendly chat_.

“Peter and I aren’t together,” MJ blurted as she turned to Brad. “It’s just that his aunt and I always got along, so when they went... somewhere, she left me a key, so I could, uh, keep an eye on her place.”

Brad narrowed his eyes.

“You and Peter...”

“Broke up,” she assured him. “We definitely broke up. Weeks ago.”

“Not that she’s ready to date anyone else yet,” Cindy piped up. MJ glanced at her and her friend offered a wink, apparently congratulating herself for covering for her. That had kinda become the secondary issue now though.

“But you’re keeping an eye on his apartment?”

“Well, the apartment belongs to his aunt,” MJ said, “and yeah, I’m... vacuuming. And stuff.”

‘And stuff’ meaning crawling morosely between Peter’s empty sheets and making daring escapes with her pal, the Black Widow.

“You’re vacuuming Spider-Man’s apartment?” Brad asked in a harsh whisper, getting it half-correct. “You know how bad that would look if anybody found out?”

“They’re not going to find out though, are they, Brad?” MJ checked. She met his stare with her own.

This was the tipping point; if he cared about her―as a person, not a prospective girlfriend―he’d drop this whole thing. If he didn’t, this would be the moment that blackmail entered the conversation. If he did this for her, what would she do for him? Going that route seemed unlikely, with Cindy there as a witness (god, she was playing a lot of roles today, many of them straight from a cast of true crime characters), but Brad did hold something big over her. They were all intelligent enough to understand that.

Thankfully, Brad looked immediately offended. (Cindy was probably loving that, but MJ couldn’t look away from Brad to check.)

“Of _course_ not. I don’t want to get you in trouble, or put you in danger. Oh my god, MJ,” he said as she watched the potential consequences unfurl behind his eyes. “I definitely don’t want you to be in danger after you already distanced yourself from Peter. For that very reason, am I right?”

 _Fuck you, Brad_ , MJ thought as she nodded slowly. This guy was _so_ not getting a chair on the team next year.

“Right,” he agreed, more with himself than her. Distractedly, he took a few more bites of his burger. MJ ate her onion rings, Cindy clattered the ice around in their soda―both of them waiting, it seemed to MJ, for the other shoe to drop. “I only want to protect you.”

 _There was that fucking shoe_.

Before MJ could do or say anything, Cindy slung an arm around her shoulders and smiled at Brad.

“Got it covered,” she assured him. “I was born ready to protect my best friend from the assholes at the _Daily Bugle_.”

“Yourself excluded from that group,” MJ added after her friend had emphasized the exact opposite.

“Thanks,” Brad said warily.

Cindy sighed loudly and removed her arm, returning to her food. MJ and Brad started eating again as well.

“Life was simpler before we all had jobs,” Cindy stated.

MJ almost laughed at the idea of _employment_ being the thing that had turned everything upside down that summer. Maybe that was what would’ve happened if Quentin Beck hadn’t been a megalomaniac, and J. Jonah Jameson wasn’t an immoral spaz, and Peter wasn’t enhanced, and MJ hadn’t fallen hard and fast in love with him. She couldn’t change any of those things―some of them she definitely didn’t _want_ to change―but she understood her boyfriend’s struggle between clearing his name as Spider-Man and having a life of his own as Peter. It’d really be something for him to be just another teenager with a summer job. In a parallel universe, maybe that dork’s compulsion to save people was being put to use as a community pool lifeguard. MJ finished her onion rings, silently wishing the imaginary Other Peter all the best with his enviably uncomplicated life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dunno about you, but I stan the hell outta loose-cannon, BadCop!Cindy.
> 
> Peter's back in the next chapter as he and MJ find new ways to be intimate over the phone... *eyebrow waggle* *obvious glances towards tags*


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fuel for this story is 50% my determination and 50% your pro-Cindy comments. Thank you for all of those on the last chapter! Also, we've passed 10,000 hits on this sucker! Will my chapter notes just be a stats update from now on? Maybe???
> 
>  _Anyway_ , don't let me take up any more of your time. We have a very interesting phone call to get to...

XIX

She confessed. Was it really _her_ confession? No. Was there a chance that she would actually create friction by informing her boyfriend? Yes. Was there a pressing reason to share the information? None but her own conscience. So, MJ called Peter on their special phones and―in between telling him he’d been right about Brad for a long, long time―let him know that Brad had passed her off as his girlfriend. Without her permission or even her presence, she added. He said something that surprised her.

“If only there was a way we could get Brad and _Flash_ together.”

MJ had to cover her mouth when she laughed abruptly. It was late and her mom was having downtime after her shift, reading in the other room.

“I don’t think there’s much chance of that, since Brad’s straight, but I admire your capacity for wishful thinking,” she told him. Speaking of wishful thinking, her gaze slid sideways to the Night Pad lying open on the bed.

“Ah, Flash probably doesn’t deserve Brad’s bullshit anyway.”

“Oh yeah? You warming to him now?” It was a joke. Was there any ridiculous, unfounded jealousy behind it? Fine, but it was fucking microscopic.

“Not to his flirting. But as a human being? Yeah, he’s not so bad. Maybe. I don’t know,” Peter said on an exhale MJ could almost feel against her cheek. “He hasn’t called me ‘Penis’ in a while.”

“Moved on to other terms of endearment?”

“Hilarious.”

“That’s not a denial, Parker.”

“You’re a real investigator now, huh?” He sounded proud of her and she smiled into the phone. “That’s pretty hot.”

“Enough to recognize that you’re trying to change the subject,” she quipped, but she could feel the warmth radiating from her face.

“He called me ‘Petey’ once.”

MJ was less successful at blocking this laugh.

“ _Petey_?”

“He said it was a typo,” Peter offered defensively.

“Sure it was.”

“Are you… jealous?” His voice was incredulous over the phone.

“What, like I want Flash to start calling _me_ ‘Petey’? No way.”

“I’m not flirting with him, M,” Peter said. It was soft, reassuring. She rolled her eyes at herself. “You know that. You’re the only one I feel… _this_ for.”

“This? Nickname tolerance?”

“Cut it out,” he laughed.

“Say it,” she challenged.

“ _I love you_. So, so much. Crazy much. And, yeah, I do tolerate your nicknames.”

“Because I know how to use them.”

At the sound of his shaky inhale, goosebumps rose on her arms.

“Don’t start,” he breathed more than spoke. She got the sense that his mouth was almost against his phone and pressed her ear tighter to hers, like she might feel his lips.

“Maybe this is the perfect time to start,” MJ countered, crossing her room to gently shut her bedroom door in case things... progressed. She returned to the bed, idly shading an already dark section of her latest drawing with the pencil she’d left on top of the sketchbook. “You know, reaffirm our connection in the midst of Brad calling me his girlfriend and Flash using pet names.”

“Ok, it was _name_ , _singular_. One time,” he repeated. “And I think he only did it because of the, you know, distance and the safety net of being able to pretend it was a typo.”

“I think―”

“Wait! I just remembered―sorry for interrupting you…”

“No, that’s alright,” she promised, sitting up straight and clutching the phone. “Is everything ok? Do you have news?”

“Not about me being the prime suspect in Beck’s death, but about something else. Something dumb but also…” Peter made a noise of frustration.

“What is it?”

“Remember how it took a while for you to start getting my texts?”

“Yeah…”

“I just… I had a feeling… You know how Mr. Stark had my suit spy on me way back before you and me started going out?”

“Yeah. Prick,” MJ denounced without any actual anger.

“I remembered that the other night, so I went and asked him if he had tried anything like that since then. He admitted it.”

“What? And he wasn’t going to tell you?”

“I guess Ms. Romanoff realized it right away. Well, after I told her you hadn’t gotten my texts. And she talked to him.”

“Lightly threatened would be my guess,” she suggested placidly.

“Probably. Mr. Stark says it stopped then and the two of them decided not to tell me unless I figured it out. They didn’t want me to feel watched, or something. As if I’m not already being watched all the time in this place. Hear that, Mr. Stark?”

MJ snorted when she heard FRIDAY reply to her boyfriend, asking if there was something he wished to communicate to Tony. Peter answered in the negative.

“What was his point?” she wondered, getting his attention back. “Like you said, you’re already there, he can already keep track of you.”

“I think it just drives him nuts that he can’t _totally_ keep track of me, you know? Seems like a dad thing, with his kid on the way. Although, at the same time, he helped me go see you.”

“He did?”

“Oh yeah, I have a playlist to prove it.”

She frowned, but decided unravelling that detail wasn’t the most important thing right now.

“So he read our texts?” That filled her with horror. The pencil went motionless in her hand. They’d said so many things… they’d _sexted_. But Peter was certain Tony’s surveillance had ended long before that. “My knowledge of super-secret spy-phones is pretty rudimentary,” MJ said drily, trying to regain her calm, “but I would’ve thought a hacking attempt would’ve, I don’t know, triggered some kind of alarm. Alerted Romanoff, or something.”

“He didn’t try a direct hack to read my texts or mirror them or recover them. He was trying not to be noticed and it just sort of created a drag. He said he was still working on it when Ms. Romanoff caught him, so it wasn’t perfect.”

“No kidding it wasn’t perfect,” she complained, meaning the snooping situation as a whole. “Why wouldn’t he have done something direct and just… found out what we were saying to each other? Or, why couldn’t he get in using his sneaky method without being discovered?”

“I don’t know. I guess it’s easier to smash a window than to pick a lock.”

“Jeeze, nerd, that was actually smart.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve been doing my reading,” Peter smugly informed her.

“Wow, must really piss Tony off that you’re using technology not invented by him.” MJ grinned.

“I think that’s at least fifty percent of his reasoning, honestly. Not his phone, not his security measures...”

“Where did Romanoff get these things?” she wondered, pulling the phone away from her ear for a minute. It was nondescript in the extreme. Nothing about the design stood out. There certainly wasn’t a logo.

“They might be Wakandan tech.”

“ _Seriously_?” MJ studied her phone again. It didn’t do a lot―just connected her with Peter―but that didn’t mean it _couldn’t_ do a lot. Either way, it was sort of perfect in its simplicity.

“Maybe, I don’t know for sure.” He exhaled like he’d just thrown himself onto his bed on his back. Instantly, her excitement over the mention of Wakanda was shoved to the side by a fantasy of climbing on top of her boyfriend. “They might be coming here soon. Nobody likes to tell me things.”

“That’s insane. That’s so fucking cool,” she said hurriedly, Wakanda back in focus.

“What about me?”

“It sucks that you don’t know for sure if there’s a Wakandan contingent heading your way.”

“But what about _me_ being so fucking cool?” Peter wanted to know.

“Now who’s jealous?”

“I just. Miss you.”

“Me too,” she sighed. “At least I’ve been really productive without you around.” Gripping her pencil again, she sketched a few loose lines alongside ones she already had on the page.

“Hey! But, wait… Do you mean you’re productive _because_ I’m not around? Like, you’re productive because you’re trying to get me back, right?”

“Yeah, I’ve been productive with my investigative methods. Which you mocked earlier.”

“I’m genuinely impressed!”

“I’ve also been productive with other things,” MJ said slyly, hoping her boyfriend would ask so she didn’t have to take the leap herself.

“What other things?” His tone was light and cautious. He’d clearly heard something in hers to indicate she wasn’t about to tell him she’d been catching up on her reading.

“I might have some new artwork to show you.”

“What? Of us?” Peter asked eagerly.

“Sometimes.”

“Of me?”

“Every time.”

She heard him inhale and it made her shiver. She stilled her pencil again before she could accidentally dig it into the page too hard and ruin both its precisely sharpened tip and the paper.

“Are you working on it… _now_?”

Had he heard her pencil stop moving? Jesus, those enhanced senses were really something.

“Are you super-eavesdropping?”

“Come on, M! I’m curious!”

MJ began to sketch again―quick, rough, trying to be heard. She’d let that be his confirmation that he’d guessed correctly.

“What are you drawing? Please… don’t tease me.”

“Relax, Spider-Man,” she told him, knowing the command was a trap. Using that name with him was one of her favourite ways of making it impossible for him to relax. “Just drawing you.”

“You implied that much already.”

“Then don’t ask dumb questions.”

“Don’t make me beg for specifics,” Peter said in a low voice. Heat flared up MJ’s neck into her face.

“What do you need specifics for? Can’t you wait to see it in person?”

“When?”

“Sometime?”

“Not good enough,” he said in that same tone. _So much for begging_ , she thought.

“It’s in my Night Pad,” she offered.

“That was obvious too. I am... wearing clothes?”

“Nope.”

“ _MJ_ ,” he groaned. By the rustle between that reaction and the next muffled one, it sounded as though he’d buried his face in a pillow. “I _am_ jealous. I’m jealous of _him_.”

“He _is_ very handsome,” MJ agreed.

“Are you drawing my face then?”

“No.” She couldn’t help laughing, her pencil skimming the side of his ribcage, up towards his armpit, where those stupid muscles curved outward.

“You have to tell me.”

“Your torso,” she relented.

“The top half or, uh, the bottom half?”

“Top half,” she said, concentrating harder as she adjusted Peter’s opposite side in the drawing to match what she’d just done. The nerd was so damn symmetrical. “I’ve been really into your chest and shoulders lately.”

Oh god. That had just slipped out, mumbled while she focused on the sketch.

“Oh yeah?” Yep, he sounded gloaty. He was gloating. MJ moaned in embarrassment.

“I don’t know if me saying that makes it better or worse.”

“What? The drawing?”

She shifted, tucking one leg beneath her.

“How much I want you,” she whispered, like, if she could keep the words sounding small enough, expressing her desire out loud wouldn’t make her feel so fucking vulnerable. She skated the pencil across the page one last time before setting implement and sketchbook aside with a huff.

“I-I think you should say those things,” her boyfriend blurted. MJ’s mouth twitched up into a smile. “You should definitely always tell me that, whenever you think it.”

“Whenever? So, if you were talking to Stark, I should just text you and say that I want you and you’d be fine with that?”

“Ok, not _then_ because obviously you wouldn’t know when that was happening.”

“I have eyes on the inside,” she reminded him, meaning Romanoff.

“Uh, can I repeat how _hot_ that is?”

“My competency?” she laughed.

“I don’t know, I guess so. Whatever it is.”

“So I’m more appealing to you now that I’ve seen some action?”

“There was a double meaning in that,” Peter pointed out, sounding a little breathless.

“You _have_ been doing your reading.”

“Told you.”

She could hear him moving around, presumably still on his bed. But she could ask about that, she could just ask and clear it up, and then she’d be able to picture him. She glanced at the drawing. Yeah, being able to picture Peter was good.

“Where are you?”

“In bed. Struggling through act one, scene two of _Macbeth_ until you called and saved me.”

“It’ll pick up. You get to the witches soon.”

“I don’t really care about that right now,” Peter rushed out and her heartrate sped up. “No offence to Shakespeare.”

“I’d really like to…” She folded her bottom lip into her mouth and clamped down with her teeth.

“What?”

The grate of his strained voice made it spill out of her.

“To climb on top of you.”

“Were you going to add that to your drawing?”

“I don’t know. I try to sketch you and…” MJ dug her fingers into her hair, restless. “…even in the ones where it’s supposed to be just you, I keep adding in my hands, touching you, _grabbing_ you…”

Her boyfriend let out a giddy laugh that ended in something more like a pant.

“Anywhere interesting?”

There was another pant and she scooted down in bed, narrowing her eyes.

“Where are your hands right now, Peter?”

“I’m… uh… holding the phone.”

“With both hands?” She smirked.

“This is different than texting this stuff,” he muttered. “It’s harder.”

“What’s harder?”

When Peter groaned for several seconds, MJ jumped. She was on edge and she didn’t know which of them had put her there. They’d been circling this almost since the beginning of the call, but he’d voiced the shift, how they’d become more direct with each other. And it _was_ different from sending sexts; with those, she had time to think, to try something out and look at it, edit it, and even delete it without sending it at all if it sounded too awkward or intense. Here, she either said something or didn’t say it, and it was fucking difficult to hold back with Peter groaning and gasping every time she took a chance and leaned into this.

“You know,” he finally said.

“Tell me anyway.”

“My... dick.”

She released a shaky breath. _Ok_ , she thought, _ok, be cool about this_.

“I...” Nice. Really cool, MJ.

“Did I make you uncomfortable? M, I’m sorry, I―”

“Like I said...” She cleared her throat. “...I want to climb on top of you.”

He panted into the phone.

“I want that too. I want―” A grunt that had her untying the string of her pajama shorts one-handed. “―you here so bad.”

MJ slipped her hand into her shorts and down between her legs.

“What’re you doing with your other hand, Peter?” she whispered, insistent.

He sighed. _She_ wanted to be making him sigh like that. Having him as her proxy was pretty good though, MJ decided, tentatively gliding wetness up over her clit and making gentle circles with her fingertips.

“St-stroking myself. Wishing my hand was yours.”

“And that mine was yours, maybe,” she added. She heard Peter swallow.

“What’s yours doing?”

“Same thing yours is. Stroking.” Her leg twitched as she pressed harder.

“You ever think about that time?” he wondered, voice somehow both soft and rough.

“I think about all of them.”

“No,” her boyfriend laughed breathily, “but the time in front of the mirror. You were so into it.”

“When have I not been?” But MJ didn’t mean to be self-deprecating. She wasn’t embarrassed by how much being with Peter turned her on.

“What was it about that time?”

“Everything,” she blurted, frazzled by her own actions―hair sticking to the sweaty back of her neck, index and middle fingers rubbing her clit forcefully up and down.

“But why―” Peter gasped and MJ felt herself clench. Carefully, she trapped her phone between her ear and her shoulder. With her newly-freed hand, she jerked her shorts down, then pressed a finger inside herself with a shallow hooking motion. “―did you like that so much? What was it? Me bending you over?”

That wasn’t all of it, but it was enough to make MJ clamp her eyes shut and nod vehemently. When she remembered he couldn’t see that reaction, she gave him a hoarse, “Yes.”

“But that wasn’t all of it,” he guessed. “Oh _god_ , MJ. What else? Baby, what else?”

“The mirror,” she mumbled, rocking her hips in faltering time with the rhythm of her fingers.

“Why the mirror? That’s what I can’t figure out. Driving me nuts.”

“You were just... all around... all around me. Seeing you there... feeling you everywhere...”

“Fuck, you’re almost there, aren’t you?” Peter demanded, voice taut. “Me too,” he promised when she moaned.

MJ shifted as she brought herself to the edge and her phone slipped from where she’d been holding it. “Shit,” she hissed. She didn’t free her hands, just watched the phone bounce harmlessly onto the mattress, landing screen-up. Wait. It was next to her hip. With the proximity, Peter would be able to hear this even more clearly than he’d heard her sketching. Was that too much? Was it too graphic? What the hell. MJ parted her thighs wider and scrubbed faster at her clit. She still didn’t let her moans get too loud, but she made sure to turn her head towards the phone. He had to hear this, how thinking about him and knowing he was over there, jerking himself off, made her feel.

She climaxed with an exhalation that started out soundless and ended in a blunt moan, like the noise abruptly hit a wall and dropped away. She opened her eyes, starting to come down.

“Be right back,” MJ leaned forward and said into the phone. She put her pajamas back on, then, on unsteady legs, she darted to the bathroom, cleaned up, and returned. He was breathing thickly into the phone when she scooped it up.

“Hey,” Peter said weakly. She was a little disappointed that she hadn’t gotten to hear _his_ final sounds, but they could improve their timing. Practice.

“You ok?” she asked, grinning.

“Oh yeah. Great.” He gave a massive exhale. “So, _that_. At the end. Thank you for that.”

She blushed hard.

“So you could hear...?”

“God, yes. I owe you.”

“I actually think I owed you from... way back.”

“ _Oh_. Yeah. When I called you by accident as I was...?”

“Mhmm,” MJ agreed.

“Let’s pretend I owe you anyway.”

There was a certainty in his voice that she couldn’t account for.

“Did you already have something in mind?”

“I might’ve gotten an idea towards the end there. I don’t know if it’ll work yet, I’ll have to...”

She laughed, practically able to hear her boyfriend’s mind drifting, the wheels turning on a project. This was the influence of being around Tony Stark so much.

“Ok. Tell me when you can.” Honestly, that was better for her. He could save them both his distracted half-sentences. Besides, he had Ned to work through the early stages of an idea with, right? “Maybe Ned can help.”

“No,” Peter said immediately. “No, this is just between you and me.”

“Alright, take it easy. I won’t say anything. Nerd.”

He laughed and their talk eased into normal things, school things, volunteering things, until they wrapped up the call with MJ saying ‘I love you’ first, smug when she beat him to it. After she hung up, she smiled to herself for a few minutes―phone still in hand―until she had an insane urge. She rolled towards her nightstand and grabbed her regular phone. Quickly, she unlocked it, went to her messages, found the right thread, started texting... and stopped herself. Her and Peter’s orgasms had given her a floaty kind of confidence and she’d just about fired off a text to Flash letting him know _exactly_ whose boyfriend Peter was. She put her phone back. God, that would’ve been stupid.

Satisfying, though. MJ took a last look at her drawing before closing the Night Pad and returning it to its spot on her shelf. Oh yeah. Satisfying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any ideas as to what Peter's idea might be? You won't have to wait long to find out because next week's a Peter POV chapter! Another reason to get excited for the next chapter: new characters! Not new to the MCU, but new for me writing them. Guesses? There was a hint in this chapter.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few of you guessed last week who this chapter's new characters were going to be! Time for the Wakandans!

XX

“Hello! Kid! Visiting royalty! Let’s go!”

“Coming, Mr. Stark!” Peter shouted back, letting FRIDAY convey the message from his bedroom to where his mentor was currently greeting King T’Challa and his contingent downstairs. “Just… one second…” he murmured to himself, unable to set aside the project he was partway through. Yep, even for royalty. There was a sappy line in his head that MJ would’ve hated―something about prioritizing treating her as a queen over meeting an actual monarch―but Peter mentally webbed it to the wall of his brain so it would shut up and he could just… get this…

There!

With a happy sigh, he sat back on his ass, on the floor of his bedroom. There was a beam of white light hitting his wall and _he’d_ made that happen. Of course, now he had to switch it off, and he was hasty about it, shoving the thing in the back of his closet before trading his wrinkled t-shirt for a button-up and bolting out of his room and his and May’s apartment. He bounded down the hall, fastening the last couple of buttons. He was exuberant. Visiting royalty was the perfect cover for his excitement; Mr. Stark wouldn’t suspect that he was hiding anything, particularly not a project with such a, uh, private purpose.

Unlike sneaking out of the compound, this was something he’d gotten explicit permission to do. He wouldn’t have stolen it from the lab because it was both too important _and_ too conspicuous. It was the projector off one of Beck’s busted drones. All of those broken parts―anything above scrap metal―had come back here, to the compound, after he fought Beck in London. At first, Peter had known that Mr. Stark had just wanted to reclaim what he considered sorta his property, seeing as how he’d showcased B.A.R.F. under the Stark Industries brand, but after Beck had decided to be the world’s biggest asshole and use his final words to fuck up Peter’s whole goddamn life ( _ok, calm_ , he thought, stopping himself from hitting the elevator’s Door Close button so many times that it jammed), the scraps had become invaluable. Relics of a critical fight. Resources that possibly contained the truth. Even his aunt had jumped into what was not her area of expertise to see if there was any useful data they could extract to help clear his name.

Once they’d found it, the examination of the drone fragments had cooled down; if it wasn’t glowing with freaky cosmic energy, Dr. Banner wasn’t that into it; Ms. Romanoff preferred coercing and/or punching info out of bad guys to analyzing it out of their tech; Mr. Rogers had come by one time, frowned at the pieces, and just kinda said, “Huh,” in a way Peter’s mentor had been chipper about telling him meant the old man (Mr. Stark’s words) had had no idea what he’d been looking at. Mr. Stark was the only one who stuck with it. Not in a big way, but he’d brought Peter down to the lab a couple weeks ago and asked if he wanted to work on something together. It wasn’t mission critical, he’d clarified as Peter automatically thrust back his shoulders and tried to look capable whenever there was an Avengers-y aura about something. It actually wasn’t even a mission. It was… Mr. Stark wanting to spend time with him. Apparently, he’d still felt bad about Europe, but Peter could help assuage his guilt (again, not Peter’s words) by doing a little tinkering, a little bonding. Peter’d nodded, smiled, and cried in his room later because it was such a dad thing. At the time, they’d gotten right down to work, enthusiastically dismantling and reassembling the thing side-by-side, tools in hand, a schematic (built by FRIDAY in real-time) hovering on a holoscreen. Peter had learned the ins and outs and then―when he’d innocently asked to try his hand at fixing one solo, maybe bringing it back to his room to check out in between doing his homework―repaired one himself. The one sitting in his closet _right now_ because he’d fucking _done it_!

He laughed to himself under his breath and went bounding down the hall when the elevator brought him to the right floor.

What was that thing Mr. Fury always said? About there being an idea? Well, _Peter’d_ had an idea―a hell of an idea―the other night when he was talking to his girlfriend on the phone. It was her thing with the mirror, which he could see quickly becoming _their_ thing with the mirror because… yeah. Watching her in it while he plunged inside her was pretty incredible. Using the mirror was electrifyingly kinky, but it’d be easy to do anywhere (once he was free to roam again―exile _sucked_ ). Her room, his, a bathroom… lots of places had mirrors. Peter wanted to take it to the next level. That was why he’d started asking MJ for specifics on why she enjoyed the mirror so much. If it was just seeing their reflections, well, a mirror was already the best tool for the job. He couldn’t perfect a mirror. But she’d told him it wasn’t that so much as it was the _feeling_ of the experience, of being surrounded by him. Was there any other way to achieve that? Was it within his power to give it to her? Now it was. He was already halfway there.

With the machine repaired, he’d have to concentrate on programing the fantasy. Yes, fantasy. Peter wasn’t going to call it an illusion, like Beck had done, with the intention of deceiving his audience, but he couldn’t call it therapy either, like Mr. Stark did, employing it to deal with trauma. His use for it was going to look entirely narcissistic, but really be all about MJ. What he was gonna do was program it to display a holograph featuring versions of himself; he’d need some footage of himself that was going to be super embarrassing to film. It would all be worth it though, the first time he and MJ tried it out. Peter thought he might need Ned’s help after all with the programming, as long as he was cautiously vague about what it was for and paid his best friend back for his help. Not literally paid, just did something nice for him. Or, he considered as he followed the sound of Mr. Stark’s voice, he could ask the… the _princess_.

Princess Shuri was standing right there and, holy shit, T’Challa―the king of Wakanda! Yeah, they’d technically fought on the same side in Germany, but they hadn’t, like, hung out. Not that they were gonna hang out now. Man, what a thought! _Easy, Peter_ , he told himself.

“Aha! Here he is,” Peter was vaguely aware of Tony saying as he waved him forward to shake hands with their guests.

“Just a tip,” Dr. Banner whispered as he passed, “don’t bow.”

“’K,” Peter mumbled back, eyes glued to the king. He stopped in front of him and wondered if shaking hands was the right thing to do. T’Challa answered that question for him by offering his. Peter shook it, mouth hanging open until he stumbled out, “Peter… Peter… Parker. Or Spider-Man.”

“I remember,” T’Challa assured him. “A pleasure.”

“Do you have them with you?” his sister asked, the second the king had stepped back from Peter.

“Uh, hi and what?”

“The wrist-mounted devices that discharge the substance you used to relieve Captain America of his shield.”

“Oh,” Peter said, sighing as he understood. “My web-shooters. No, they’re in my room.”

“I would be very interested in examining them during our visit,” Shuri enthused. She sent T’Challa a judgemental look from the corner of her eye. “My brother was able to tell me so little about them after you met in Germany.”

“We were in a combat situation!” the king said defensively. “It was not the right time!”

“If you had a more disciplined mind like I do, you would have been able to easily accomplish both.”

“ _Princess_ ,” chastised a woman standing stiffly a couple of yards behind them. Her stance and her clothing told Peter she was a Wakandan warrior, a member of the Dora Milaje.

“It’s good for him to be reminded of his shortcomings, Okoye,” Shuri told the warrior with a grin. “It will make him a better king.”

“This is exactly why I never bring you along,” T’Challa said. “You speak impertinently in front of people who do not know you are joking.”

His sister rolled her eyes and flipped him off.

Before anyone else could react, Mr. Stark laughed loudly.

“That’s the spirit, Princess,” he praised. “Remind us not to stand on ceremony among friends.”

“Anyone who sees my way of thinking is certainly a friend,” Shuri agreed with a sly grin.

“There are a few things I’d like to get your eyes on,” Tony said to T’Challa, “before we give up on formalities entirely.”

With a nod, the king walked in step with Mr. Stark, Dr. Banner right behind them.

“Will my help be required, do you think?” Shuri wondered. The three of them turned to look at her.

“That depends,” Tony said with a shrug. “Do you know anything about―”

“More than you do,” she assured him without waiting for specifics.

“Well,” he countered, “it’s my facility and my stuff, so...” He made a face at her.

“ _Tony_ ,” Bruce said, cringing.

“You are no better than she is,” T’Challa informed Tony, pointing to his sister.

“Yeah, and he’s no better than me,” Mr. Stark added, pointing to Peter, who smiled uncertainly. “Welcome to the compound!”

“I’ll leave you to your work, Brother,” Shuri said. “I’m more interested in studying the components of Peter’s suit.”

“Okoye, would you mind accompanying her?” the king requested.

“Don’t you think dispensing a member of the Dora Milaje to babysit me is a waste of her abilities and possibly a misuse of your authority?”

“Why must you behave this way?”

Peter watched Princess Shuri pretended to think about it.

“Jetlag,” she decided.

The king sighed heavily and left with Mr. Stark and Dr. Banner.

“I’ll... go grab my stuff,” Peter offered, darting away to give the princess and the warrior a few minutes to bicker without an audience.

* * *

A bunch of them were hanging out together (Peter was trying to stay calm) later that afternoon and, while Shuri animatedly explained to her brother what she’d learned about the Spidey suit with Mr. Stark chiming in, Peter had a few unobserved minutes to text his girlfriend. He hadn’t wanted to discuss his plan with B.A.R.F. until he was sure it would work. Now, he was sure. After his progress this morning and a ton of helpful insight on holographics from the princess, Peter felt confident that he’d be able to complete his project. It would take a little time, but maybe having MJ in on the secret would spur him on to finish it faster. While also not neglecting his schoolwork, of course.

 _I love you_ , he started with. _Those visitors that I mentioned might be coming soon are here and that’s not even the most exciting thing I have to tell you_.

 _I love you too_ , she replied. He smiled at his phone. Good, he’d caught MJ after her volunteering shift. In his eagerness and with everything going on today, Peter had forgotten what time she was done. _Hurry up and tell me_.

He took a deep breath as he began frantically texting her back. He broke it up into multiple messages, but each block of text was still pretty big. She wouldn’t mind though. Not once she started reading them. By the time he’d communicated everything, including how much he expected the two of them to enjoy the application of his work, Peter was giddy.

 _I’ll give you some time to think about all that. I’ll talk to you later_.

When he slipped his phone back into his pocket and looked up, Ms. Romanoff was staring straight at him.

“Talking to MJ?”

Peter laughed and pushed his fingers through his hair.

“I’m pretty obvious, huh?”

“It’s sweet. How’s she doing?”

“Uh, good, I think.” _Very good once she gets through those texts_ , he thought. He rubbed his palms nervously on his jeans. “But you saw her almost as recently as I did. When was that, Monday?”

“That reminds me,” Ms. Romanoff said without confirming the date. She turned away and addressed Shuri. “Princess, would you be able to help us out with something?”

Shuri paused with her finger leveled at Mr. Stark―they’d been lightly arguing over something while T’Challa strove to keep things civil without chastising his host the same way he chastised his little sister―looked at Ms. Romanoff, and shrugged.

“Ok, Widow.” They’d obviously spoken earlier. Shuri moved over to join their group. “I was beginning to get tired of explaining everything to Tony anyway.”

“Hey, Pete,” Mr. Stark called over, obviously drawn by the sound of his name. “You know who the princess reminds me of, right?”

Peter tried to control his grin. Somebody who’d go toe-to-toe with Mr. Stark, who’d call him out instead of thoughtlessly revering him? Yeah, there was this one girl he knew...

“Speaking of the person Tony was reminded of,” Ms. Romanoff began, “I believe she might be in the market for a mace.”

“For Mace?” Shuri asked.

“You think I couldn’t hook somebody up with a can of Mace if that’s what was needed?” the spy teased.

“So you _did_ mean a mace, like the weapon. Just checking.” She beamed. “You’d like me to design one? Construct it?”

Ms. Romanoff sat back and casually crossed her arms. She shrugged.

“Both, if you’re interested.”

“Between the resources here and what we have on the jet, I should have everything I would require.”

Peter was confused.

“MJ needs a mace?”

“What woman doesn’t?” the Black Widow countered. Yeah, they were on the same side and spiders stuck together, but she still intimidated the crap out of him.

“Did she ask for one?” he tried instead.

“No, but it never hurts to be proactive, especially about your personal arsenal.”

This was why they got Captain America to do the school videos. His taglines were a little more... conventionally wholesome. Still, Peter could see that Ms. Romanoff had a point. When he’d started out―just a few short years ago―he’d handmade all of his own equipment. If he’d had the option of having Tony Stark (whom he hadn’t yet known) custom-make his suit, suit lady included, he’d have taken it. Getting help was smart, especially when it was help from the best. Shit, did that make it sound like he thought Shuri was the best? With Mr. Stark sitting right there? Thank Thor that Peter’s mentor couldn’t read minds. He avoided catching his eye anyway.

“You’re right,” he said. “MJ needs a mace.”

“Well now that we have your approval...” Shuri joked. Ms. Romanoff smiled wryly.

“I didn’t mean it like that, but before you say it, I know you’re messing with me.” The princess would definitely get along with his girlfriend.

“I have so many ideas!”

She accessed a holograph through her bracelet (Peter was floored) and began flipping through a veritable catalogue of weaponry. He couldn’t tell if these were historic images or a collection of prototypes the princess had designed herself―she navigated through them too quickly. Oh well, the most important thing was that _she_ knew what she was doing. Peter would be happy to consult, or even just watch the mace get made.

“By the way,” Shuri asked, holding her wrist out so Ms. Romanoff could examine one of the holographic weapons more closely, “who is MJ?”

* * *

More of the team was present for dinner that first evening of the Wakandans’ visit. The only two people who were normally around but were currently absent were Happy and Peter’s aunt. May’d told Peter earlier that Happy had asked her on a date (which would take place inside the compound) and that it had seemed so important to Happy that, even now that T’Challa’s contingent had arrived, they were sticking to their dinner plans. It would be private and romantic and Peter was just glad it wasn’t happening in his and May’s quarters because he didn’t want to return from dinner to see anything that would scar him for life. Well, scar him for life _more_ than everything he’d already dealt with.

At the far end of the table, Shuri and Mr. Barton were brainstorming new functions for his arrows and T’Challa was catching Mr. Rogers up on news of Mr. Barnes. With all of the chatter going on, Peter checked his phone. MJ had replied to his earlier messages. There was a whole string of texts:

_Peter, are you serious?_

_You have to tell me more about the visitors (I’m guessing no names for security reasons?), but I’m not too focused on that right now._

_You can do this? Repurpose the projector? You nerd. You absolute nerd. If this is for real..._

_I reread your texts. So this_ is _for real. How will you control the simulation?_

Peter would’ve stopped reading to consider that question if MJ hadn’t already started answering it for him in her next text.

_Beck used a headset, right? And he had a display. Would you really need that? You’re not monitoring a large-scale simulation or keeping track of dozens of drones, just the one projector. What about a sensor? You could make it small and stick it to your temple or behind your ear or something. That way, the focus of the simulation would follow your line of sight._

_Plus,_ she’d sent a minute later, _no headset means you’ll look less like a member of a boy band._

 _What the hell, Parker,_ MJ had texted after that. He could feel the change in her tone. _You’re actually gonna do it aren’t you? You’ve already started._

Then, three minutes after that, _You make me wanna BARF._

Peter laughed softly, smiling at the phone he held below the edge of the table. He wondered if he should tell her about the mace too, or if that was one thing he could actually keep a surprise. Yeah, maybe surprise her with it, that would be―

He yelped as Mr. Stark snatched the phone from his hand.

“So this is the secret phone, huh?” he asked while Peter panicked. “Mind if I...?”

“Yes! I do mind!”

Tony rotated the phone to look at the screen.

“‘You make me wanna barf,’” he read out. Peter’s face was burning, but as soon as Mr. Stark touched the screen to scroll up through his texts, it went black, shutting him out.

Mr. Stark rolled his eyes and muttered about security and how rude it was to deny him access. In the meantime, Peter held out his hand and Tony placed the phone back in it.

“How old are you?” he demanded.

“Uh, seventeen. You were at my birthday,” Peter reminded him, tucking his phone away.

“Seventeen and you’re using a piece of tech like that to trade innocent insults with your girlfriend.”

Peter exhaled with deep relief. Mr. Stark hadn’t guessed at the reference to his Binarily Augmented Retro-Framing; he just thought the word was capitalized for emphasis. That it was MJ hurling an insult. He held back a laugh.

“You say that like you haven’t done far stupider things with your tech,” Ms. Romanoff commented. She threw Peter a discrete wink that told him she was consciously interfering to rescue him.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Tony retorted, then drew his chair closer to Pepper’s, shunning the spiders.

“Thanks,” Peter mouthed to Ms. Romanoff.

“For what?” she mouthed back.

He snorted and went back to eating until Princess Shuri came over to discuss the mace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, we know what'll be keeping Peter busy while we get back to MJ's POV! She'll definitely be considering what Peter told her in the back of her mind, but it might not be enough to combat some jealousy issues.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Are you there, B.A.R.F.? It's me, MJ._
> 
> Don't skip the announcement in the endnotes!

XXI

MJ was doing great. Just fine. She wasn’t at all paranoid that people might be looking at her and thinking _that girl’s boyfriend is building her a kink machine_. She always carried the thought of Peter with her, every day. When someone talked over her or bumped her on the bus without apologizing, she’d gleefully imagine telling them Peter Parker―yeah, the accused murderer and all-around badass―was madly in love with her and prepared to break bones at her whim. When she overheard people complaining about some lousy date they’d been on or the latest demonstration of their partner’s disinterest, she’d remember how Peter brought her dahlias on her birthday and never sounded like he was saying he loved her out of weary obligation. Their relationship was the fucking best, including the fact that he was repurposing simulation tech to further enhance their sex life. So romantic! That knowledge just made her feel transparent, walking around like a normal person. If anyone knew! Then again, she’d gotten pretty damn good at keeping secrets. And it wasn’t like she couldn’t think about what Peter was doing and, beyond that, look forward to the day it’d be finished and they could put it to use together, she simply had to save those thoughts for the right time and place.

God, she’d been so much better at self-control before this whole falling in love thing.

At least Happy was watching her back. He was a great ally inside the compound because, though MJ couldn’t be sure, she had the feeling that he would be throwing the people Peter’s plan would most freak out off the scent. Namely, May and Tony. Happy could never be completely in the loop, but MJ knew he was loyal. She’d observed him second-hand for a good long while before they ever spoke and, after the way he was there for Peter in Europe, she decided Happy had earned her full approval. Kinda cool that he must have felt the same about her. He wouldn’t have kept coming to her for help with May if he didn’t.

If not for the two separate phones, MJ would’ve had to double- and triple-check who she was replying to last night. As it was, she’d placed the phones at opposite ends of her bedroom, forcing herself to sit on her bed to text Peter and stand by her closet to text Happy. Mixing up the conversations would’ve been disastrous. Happy did not need to know about Peter’s extracurricular project and MJ was pretty sure Peter wouldn’t want to be pulled into the middle of a discussion of Happy’s feelings for his aunt. Separation was the key, MJ was finding. She’d never had so many friends or responsibilities in her life. If she was able to keep everything under control, things would _have_ to work out. She would stare down the barrel of the universe and… and…

Crap, she was thinking about B.A.R.F. again. Seriously, the name should be enough to temper her desire, but the anticipation was too powerful. Did she wish Peter hadn’t told her? Well, no. She would’ve realized he was hiding something and gotten it out of him. Even physically exiled and communicating through a spy-phone, he was transparent to her. The thought made MJ smile fondly as she made her way to the hospital’s closest exit. An organization had brought therapy dogs into the paediatric ward today and she had to acknowledge that, between her and a big, wet-eyed, sweet-faced furball, any kid in there would prefer a visit from the latter. It didn’t hurt. She was still within her volunteering hours, but while the dogs were making their rotations, her presence only made the rooms more crowded. She’d get some air and call Happy to check in. If those two things happened to repack B.A.R.F. into a tiny corner of her mind, it would certainly be convenient. MJ wasn’t a therapy dog; she could serve her own interests while also lending Happy an ear.

 _How did dinner go?_ she texted. It was seconds before her phone vibrated with his incoming call.

“Hey, MJ, yeah, great, good, great, it went well.”

“So… we’re not just gonna text then.”

“I mean, I think it went well,” Happy rambled on. “Your encouragement beforehand really helped.”

“Why do you sound like you’re freaking out then?”

“I don’t sound like I’m freaking out.”

MJ frowned at that and strolled slightly away from the hospital to take shelter in the shade of a tree on its lawn.

“Why don’t you think it went well?” she pressed. She was surprised to find Happy in worse shape than she’d hoped for.

“Aw, May was there, but I felt like she was distracted, you know? I think I’m losing ground with her. Like, the harder I try, the more distant she gets.”

“Mm,” MJ hummed in sympathy.

“Do you think I should back off? Ignore her until she comes to me?”

Her sympathy whooshed back out like a receding tide.

“Only a man would consider that a good plan.”

“Which means I… shouldn’t do that,” he interpreted.

“If the woman in question wasn’t my boyfriend’s aunt and one of the coolest, sharpest, strongest women I know, I’d tell you to proceed and learn your lesson through dismal failure, but it’s May. You can’t do that to May, you moron.”

“You know I’m trying to do this right! Calling me a moron isn’t helping!”

“Sorry, habit. Blame Peter.”

“I wish I could ask that moron for his input.”

“Hey,” MJ shot back, “only _I_ get to call him that. He’s my moron. Find your own.”

“I’d be nicer if he’d give me a hand,” Happy complained.

“Trust me, he’s already giving you a hand by accepting that you’re dating May.”

“Some extra input wouldn’t hurt.”

“Are you going to gripe to me about not having enough help or are you actually going to let me help you, ‘cause I have shit to do.”

It was true. She could be cuddling a dog whose job it was to indiscriminately love everyone.

Happy sighed loudly into the phone.

“What do I do?”

“Stay the course, dude,” MJ counselled. “Keep being there for May. She might not pick up on all the ways you’re making her life better or easier, but if she doesn’t, isn’t it still worth it to make her life better and easier? You love her, right? Love isn’t about instant gratification.”

“Do you think anything I do really matters to her though?”

“I think she’d be in worse shape without you,” she told him honestly. “She needs you right now, even if she doesn’t say it. Maybe she’s scared to recognize that. Stop her from worrying and fixating on all the terrible stuff when you can, but don’t use those moments to pressure her into admitting her feelings for you. Let her come to you. It’s May. She’s more than capable.”

“You’re right. She has raised a pretty emotionally-available teenager.”

“Mhmm. The nerd comes with a lot of other problems, but not being able to tell me he loves me isn’t one of them.”

“Yeah, he’s even nice to that Flash kid.”

“More like he _tolerates_ Flash,” she corrected.

“Whatever.” Happy sounded distracted. No, no, no, MJ needed this cleared up.

“What do you know about Flash and how to do you know it?”

“Kid’s in his online class, right? May was telling me.” He laughed. “Sounds like Spider-Man has one loyal admirer.”

“He has _plenty_ of loyal admirers and if we were going to specifically select one, it would be me.”

“…Are you ok?”

MJ groaned.

“I’m fine. Flash is a pain in the ass, that’s all. It’s normal. I wish I could just…” She trailed off, taking a deep breath as she crossed an arm over her chest, pacing in her patch of shade. “…tell people that Peter and I are still together.”

“I guess you sort of have the opposite problem that May and I have. You look broken up from the outside, but on the inside, everything’s fine. Sort of. The murder thing’s a bummer.”

“Yeah… Wait, I was supposed to be giving _you_ a pep talk.”

“You don’t know everything,” Happy said kindly. “And I might be a decade or two older than you are―”

“Or three or four.”

“―but I don’t know nothing.”

“You don’t know nothing?” she parroted dryly.

His heavy sigh made her smirk.

“I know _some things_ based on years of experience.”

“So, what do I do about Flash?”

“What, you want me to deploy a drone and shake him up a little?”

“How are your ideas for problem-solving the same as Peter’s?” MJ asked in exasperation.

“The difference is that I throw them out there for fun, whereas your moron actually executes them.”

She shrugged.

“He’s a work in progress.”

“Ok,” Happy said suddenly, “I gotta go. Apparently, we’re drop-testing car seats from the roof.”

“Only the roof? Tony has like a zillion Iron Man suits. He could drop them from the lower atmosphere if he felt like it. The roof is the best he can do?”

“It’s, uh, supposed to be a compromise. Tony, WAIT FOR ME! YOU SAID YOU WOULD― Well, I better go. Don’t murder that Flash kid. Agree to that.”

“Fine.”

“We know how difficult it is to deal with a staged homicide. I don’t want to have to help you if you actually kill someone.”

“Aww, you’d help me if I killed someone?”

“That is not even a _little bit_ funny,” Happy warned. “Gotta go!”

MJ laughed when he hung up, then went back into the hospital.

Though she thought she was definitely going to need a break after all this, there were already less than three weeks left before school resumed. In another week, she’d be tapering off her volunteer hours―a plan she’d agreed on with her mom, so that MJ would have a couple weeks of downtime before September. June had felt bad about not planning a vacation this summer. With everything going on, MJ couldn’t imagine having gone on one. Besides, she’d kinda had enough vacation for a while after Quentin Beck took the reins on Midtown’s Eurotrip. Life at home this summer might have been chaotic in a different way, but it was nothing she could’ve dealt with by throwing a swimsuit into a suitcase and running away. She’d just have to pressure Stark into flying them to Paris for Thanksgiving or something. She probably wouldn’t even have to plead that hard, since he loved showing off, and Pepper’s third trimester would have him distracted enough to give in to anything else, just to make it go away.

Inside, she sketched the kids as they pet the dogs, or sketched the kids as they told her about the dogs, if their hallway’s therapy animal had already been by. They were capable of such a massive amount of joy―the children, not the dogs―and it was good for MJ, helping her put her own worries in perspective. Peter would be beyond suspicion before school started again, they would enter senior year together, and the rest would be easy. If he chose to deny Beck’s claim that he was Spider-Man, that would be resolved and they would be the same pair of decathlon nerds they’d always been. If he acknowledged the formerly-secret identity, the world would accept that and she’d do her best to keep Peter grounded. Like maybe performing excessive eye-rolling if anybody at school tried to get his autograph. But she knew how these things went, even when heroes went the transparency route, like Tony Stark. It’d be a big deal at first, but with all the crazy shit that happened in and to this city, people would quickly move on. Brad had called Beck’s revelation a bombshell and he was right. The shock of the information and the way in which it had been exposed, with maximum drama by J. Jonah Jameson, would ensure that Peter’s confirmation (or denial―she supported him either way) was far less earth-shattering in comparison. By the winter holidays, even, things would be pretty much back to normal. Which for them, she supposed, meant Peter ducking out on present-buying or the family dinner she was already planning to invite him to, catching some bad guys, and reappearing dishevelled but smiling.

Next summer, she’d be ready for standard holiday things like touring out-of-state museums and road-tripping to the beach. Some of that she’d do with her mom, who definitely deserved a vacation, but other excursions would be for her and Peter and Betty and Ned and Cindy. Maybe Cindy would have a girlfriend then and she’d come too. A few things, though, would just be for MJ and Peter. Their last summer before college. Would they be applying to the same places this year? Would they receive twin acceptance letters? Would they live on different floors of the same dorm and then, in second year, move into an apartment together? God, this version of the future scared her almost as much as one where this current summer ended with Peter being thrown in jail for murder. She pressed her pencil to the paper and refocused her attention to right then and no time beyond it.

...But would they be inviting Flash to the beach with them?

Flash shouldn’t have seemed like the biggest issue they’d face once they were openly together again. MJ knew that. Still, she wondered how the guy would react and if he’d be a total drag at decathlon practice. He already called Peter “Penis” and it wasn’t hard to think up a name he might adopt for her. Mich-go-to-hell maybe. She and Peter had ended the last school year with Brad trying to weasel his way between them; would they be starting the next one with Flash taking up Brad’s mantle as a meddling asshole? She sighed and attempted to make the dog she was sketching look even happier. The trouble with Flash was that he wasn’t a problem that fixed itself―you kinda had to force him to back off. MJ just wasn’t sure how to do that when she couldn’t straight-up tell him that Peter Parker was _not_ available. Maybe, if she saw him face to face, something would come to her.

She left the hospital in the early afternoon, baseball cap-disguise on, and―after letting her mom know she wouldn’t be going straight home―texted Flash.

_Are you home?_

Wherever he was, MJ knew he wasn’t busy because he started typing almost immediately.

 _Of course not_ , Flash replied. _It’s the middle of August. You think I’d hang around the city with you peasants? I’m on a luxury cruise_.

What a dick. She wasn’t giving up quite yet though.

_Prove it._

_I’m in the middle of a hot stone massage!_

_I’ll give you exactly one minute to find your robe and send me a picture proving you’re on a boat._

_Please, Michelle, it’s a ship, not a boat. Guess I shouldn’t have expected you to know that._

_42 seconds..._

She waited for his response now, smirking, and in the meantime, made her way to the building that housed the Thompsons’ penthouse apartment. Flash had bragged about it enough for her to remember without needing to check his contact info for the address.

His ‘proof’ arrived and MJ squinted at the picture. Rolling her eyes, she texted back.

 _You’re standing in front of a Jaws poster_.

_That’s the Caribbean Sea!_

_I can see the girl’s legs sticking out beside your head._

After being called out, it took Flash more than ten minutes to respond. Sulking, she assumed.

 _Fine_ , he finally said. _I’m at Chez Thompson. What do you want?_

_To come over. And I’m almost there so don’t run away or pretend you’re not home._

_Screw you._

_Yeah, I’ve missed you too. You better let me in._

And he did, when she arrived. Or someone did, anyway, and MJ took the elevator up to the top of the building. She felt a little self-conscious about her ‘Eat the Rich’ t-shirt, but that couldn’t be helped now. Flash was in a bad mood regardless; that’s what she gathered rereading his texts on the way up. Could be that he was sour over Peter not flirting back. If that was the case, he wouldn’t be getting any sympathy from her. She planned to proceed with caution. She couldn’t afford to let Flash get on her nerves and cause her to blurt out something about how, despite all outward appearances, she was still with Peter. _Don’t let him provoke you_ , she thought to herself as she exited onto the top floor.

“I _was_ supposed to be on that cruise,” was the first thing Flash told her. “There was some confusion at the last minute about the number of tickets.”

“Number of tickets?” she asked, following him into a massive, gleaming kitchen to sit on a stool at the island.

“Mother and Father are on the ship.” He stuttered when he met her eye. “They, they had already purchased their tickets and it would have been a waste to―”

“Sure,” she agreed. She couldn’t go into this feeling bad for Flash, with parents who treated him as an afterthought.

“Anyway, it worked out for the best. I’ve had space to enjoy my own pursuits.”

“Like summer school?”

He glared at her. He’d been on his way to the stainless-steel fridge (to offer her something to drink?), but he turned back. Unlike MJ, Flash lacked the restraint to give noncommittal answers until he’d determined the objective of the question.

“How do you know I’m doing summer school?”

Oh shit. She’d felt so superior for a minute, having sprung that on him, but she couldn’t say she knew because Peter had told her. He hadn’t found out that Flash was in his online class until his exile was already underway. They’d been ‘broken up’ by then. Fortunately, she remembered something else.

“Uh, Ned was added to your class by accident. He said he saw your name.”

“Oh yeah, I’ve seen him on there.”

Relaxing slightly, Flash got her a glass of something bright red and carbonated. This was how he did manners: bringing you a drink without asking what you actually wanted. MJ gave it a tentative sip as Flash pulled out the stool next to her. Tasted like raspberries. If he had any clue that she was still dating Peter, it probably would’ve smelled like bitter almonds, right before the cyanide had her collapsing on the shining tiles of this million-dollar kitchen. (She’d been rereading Agatha Christie novels on the bus lately.)

“So, have you talked to him?” she asked, glancing sideways at her host.

“Ned? No. I have other concerns,” Flash airily informed her.

“Like getting a good grade, I guess.”

He nodded, but she could feel the tension. It was obvious that he wanted to brag about getting to talk to Peter whenever he wanted and how the two of them were getting super close now and how Peter didn’t even mention MJ and obviously didn’t miss her. Fuck, she was making herself mad just imagining this stuff. It was less than a minute before Flash cracked.

“Spider-Man’s in my class,” he suddenly announced.

MJ was sure her surprised face was unconvincing, but Flash seemed to care more about what he had to tell her than how she would react.

“Huh.”

“Peter Parker.”

“You believe that he’s Spider-Man then?” MJ checked.

“It’s super obvious. There’s a ton of evidence on the internet.”

She closed her eyes for a second. She didn’t want to know what kind of bullshit Flash had been reading. Probably exactly the material she’d been avoiding from the beginning, sticking to the defense of Peter coming out of the Avengers compound.

“Right,” she said flatly.

“You can’t tell anybody I said this, in case Peter turns out to be a murderer, but I’m on his side and I think you’re a piece of shit for dumping him because he’s a superhero.”

“What? I didn’t dump him _because_ he’s a superhero.”

“That’s basically what he told me,” Flash insisted. “That it wouldn’t have been safe for the two of you to be together or something. You’re such a coward.”

MJ jerked back and now she was the one glaring.

“Oh, like _you_ were running towards danger to save Spider-Man’s ass in London? You don’t know anything about our relationship.”

“Your _former_ relationship,” Flash muttered, taking a sip of his own drink.

“Ugh!”

Normally, she wasn’t one for dramatics, but he was winding her up exactly the way she’d feared and it would be better if she uncharacteristically stormed off than stayed and ruined everything by revealing her and Peter’s secret. She shoved away from the island and hopped down from the stool.

“You should’ve been nicer to him!”

“Me? You’ve called him ‘Penis’ for years!” MJ shot back, striding away from him.

“That’s behind us now!”

“If you genuinely cared about him, you wouldn’t be trying to take advantage of his loneliness!”

“What makes you think he’s lonely?”

“My knowledge of current events!” she shouted in exasperation. “His face is everywhere, he’s in hiding, and the only normal thing in his life is summer school! Um, apparently. And, not to be arrogant, he definitely still misses me! If you’ve reformed from calling him ‘Penis,’ that’s great, but try being his fucking friend for once!”

MJ slammed the door on her way out and made it all the way back home without figuring out who, exactly, she was actually mad at.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT:** There will not be a new chapter of _Boyfri(endgame)_ next week. I'm participating in Spideychelle Week and will be posting one-shots every day from June 21st - 27th. The next update of _Boyfri(endgame)_ will be two weeks from today!
> 
> In that chapter, we'll have June, we'll have Cindy, we'll have... a phone call from a princess?! That's right, our first interaction between MJ and Shuri!


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Past me is taunting present me with all the references to air conditioning in this chapter. Today's a hot one.

XXII

She spent the better part of a week experiencing two very distinct types of suffering. One was the guilt/rage/confusion combo left over from her confrontation with Flash on Monday. The other was the yearning that Peter (that sick bastard) was causing on purpose by hinting at B.A.R.F. every so often. MJ felt like an old book, glue crumbled away, unstuck from her binding. He wasn’t supposed to be able to tease her like this. The majority of the time, that power was hers. It made her antsy to see her boyfriend, though she also didn’t want to disturb him too much before this little project was complete, so she felt generally sweaty and restless. The weather wasn’t helping with that. It was like the city was trying to determine how hot it could possibly get―reminding them that, unlike Flash’s parents, the rest of them weren’t alternating between the on-deck pool and a Caribbean beach. MJ wanted to move, she wanted to… fucking _run_ (in spite of her usual lack of enthusiasm for Gym class and all it entailed), but she had also decided as recently as the day before that the air conditioning in the apartment was her best friend and they could not be parted without good reason.

Unfortunately, her mom came up with a fairly good reason to separate MJ and her habit of lying flat on the cold tiles of their kitchen. It wasn’t until June threw the idea of the human best friend into the plan that her daughter managed to peel herself off the floor and agree. They were going back-to-school shopping and taking Cindy along.

It was the second-last Saturday of the month (and before school started), neither June nor MJ was expected at the hospital, and Cindy only shadowed her dad’s job during the week. Before the Joneses left their apartment (and the air conditioning) to meet her, MJ texted Peter. She meant to send him some kind of hi-bye-talk-to-you-later, but she couldn’t resist scrolling up to their older texts first, making herself totally flustered, and resulting in a text that was almost threateningly affectionate. _I love you_ , she added, and left the spy-phone/Peter-phone at home like she always did.

“What about your hat?” June asked, grabbing her keys.

“Nobody knows who I am, Mom.”

“Your boyfriend is still big news.”

“But as far as anyone else is concerned, we broke up,” MJ reminded her. “Besides, the media finally seems to be investigating Quentin Beck.”

“Fishbowl man.”

“Right.”

“I thought I’d been seeing his face more,” her mom said thoughtfully. She herded her daughter out the door in front of her, touching the wavy mass of hair MJ had piled on top of her head. There wasn’t room for a hat even if she wanted one; she needed her neck unsmothered by hair just in case a tiny, merciful breeze passed by. “No offense to Peter, but I would’ve known that man was up to something. Unnatural look in his eyes.”

“Why don’t you be Spider-Man then?” MJ groaned, too irritated by the heat on their way downstairs. They weren’t even outside yet.

“We’re going to be together all day. Don’t you get grumpy with me, Michelle. Anyway, I don’t like how that Beck man slicked his hair back.”

“I don’t like how he framed my boyfriend for murder,” she grumbled back. June either didn’t hear her or pretended not to.

Cindy was standing outside the shoe store they’d agreed to meet at, licking an ice cream cone. MJ gave her mom a hard look; June had said they weren’t stopping for snacks until lunchtime. She contemplated faking heatstroke. God, that would’ve worked so much better if her mom wasn’t a doctor. For now, she stared sadly at her friend’s ice cream.

“Cindy, baby, you can’t bring that in the store,” June said.

“It’s ok. I’ll be done in a minute. It’s melting really fast.”

June laughed and hauled the door open to enter without them while MJ remained next to Cindy on the sidewalk. She didn’t care about this first stop anyway. Did she really need new running shoes? She hadn’t exactly worn her old ones out in gym last year.

“What’s new with you?” MJ asked, watching the ice cream disappear. That’s what she was getting for lunch. One ice cream for the main meal, another for dessert. Fuck, it was hot out. Everything Cindy didn’t catch with a lick was evaporating, which was probably why the air felt so sticky.

She shrugged.

“Buildings and shit. You?”

Working fast, Cindy got down to the cone, crunching and nodding as MJ replied, “I got into a fight with Flash.”

“Badass,” her friend said in a muffled voice as she chewed.

“No, it was pretty stupid actually. I think I might have picked it on purpose.”

Stuffing the end of her snack into her mouth, Cindy gave her a look that seemed to ask why.

“Because I miss Peter. I guess.”

“If you feel bad about Flash, we could ambush Brad again and you could take it out on him,” Cindy suggested cheerfully, scrubbing at her palms with a napkin.

“Uh, the last time we saw Brad, he almost ended up blackmailing me into dating him, so I’d rather not approach him voluntarily.”

“Just an idea.”

MJ held the door for her friend, sighing in relief as they slipped into the cool embrace of air conditioning.

Although it took a little while for MJ to warm up to the shopping (though not physically, as they continued moving in and out of air conditioned spaces), her mom and Cindy were in the correct mood immediately. They’d gotten along well for as long as they’d known each other; MJ almost expected her best friend to ask June for ideas on how she could go about wooing Saoirse Ronan, but it didn’t happen. She knew Cindy had talked to her parents (not about Saoirse specifically) and it had gone really well. That didn’t mean she was ready to start providing everyone and their mother―literally―with an update on her sexuality. MJ would respect that and say nothing until Cindy did. Anyway, it was enough just to keep up with the two of them. Her mom bought her the running shoes she had the least vacant expression while wearing, plus some for herself in a much more aggressive colour palette. After the mugging attempt that Peter had foiled, she’d joined a gym in the last year, taking kickboxing classes, putting the treadmill through its paces, and generally doing a lot more to wear through her soles than MJ had ever done with half-hearted crunches and pretending to pull herself up a rope.

Cindy had gone out shopping with her own mother the previous weekend and still showed more enthusiasm than MJ managed. Part of this was because her best friend had only been supplied with the basics; standard blue ballpoints, suite of binders in primary colours, one new pair of jeans. It was _sufficient_ , but it wasn’t Cindy. Her dad’s company didn’t pay her a salary for coming to work with him all summer―she was more like a student, there to learn rather than do―but he did furnish her with an allowance for her dedication and interest. When she hauled MJ sideways into a stationary store while her mom looked at cookware next door, she made it rain. MJ took a picture of Cindy wide-eyed over an array of post-it notes in every shape and colour and sent it to Betty. They reached a shelf of highlighters and Cindy made an ungodly noise; some nerds preferred post-its, while others were content to streak their notes in four different shades of orange.

MJ’s least favourite item on her mom’s shopping agenda was accomplished before right before lunch―strategic, she suspected, with June planning to placate her with ice cream as soon as they were done. It was trying on jeans. MJ loved jeans, but she didn’t love jeans when her body was at apex non-ill temperature and she had to risk heat exhaustion just pulling them on. Again though, she didn’t feign symptoms because that kind of thing didn’t work on her mom. She did give June a flat stare that would’ve made any of her peers back off and had zero effect with her mom. June also didn’t brook arguments about MJ liking that the jeans she already owned were several inches short (that was how MJ _liked_ them), insisting that her daughter had grown too tall for them. “You’ll thank me in the winter,” she said as MJ slouched to the dressing room with three pairs to try on. She caught Cindy’s eye and received a compassionate smile from where her friend was standing by a table strewn with pale-blue acid-washed denim. Oh boy, her friend’s mom would never go for that.

For a few minutes, MJ just stood in the dressing room in her underwear, shorts folded on the bench, and enjoyed being barefoot on concrete that was icy cold thanks to her best friend, air conditioning. Being more thoroughly cooled made her generous. Generous enough to concede to a new pair of jeans and to take a picture of her bare legs for Peter. Not too high up―she knew a shot of her legs would do the job. She didn’t have the right phone with her to send it now, but she’d save it until either she saw him in person, or until this fucking murder conspiracy was over and they could go back to texting each other from their usual phones.

Refreshed, she exited the dressing room and let her mom pay. Cindy stared wistfully at the pile of acid wash as they left the store; she’d talked herself out of them for now.

Once MJ got her ice cream at lunch, all was right with the universe. Her friend began regaling her mom with the story of the last time the two of them went out for lunch. That had been with _Brad_. Threatening glares didn’t chasten Cindy into silence and she explained all about how that lunch had been an intervention after Brad told some people (she was cautiously vague here, at least, though MJ could tell leaving out details was killing her―Cindy prided herself on her ability to retain minutiae) that MJ was his girlfriend. Cindy also omitted the fact that MJ being secretly photographed had started that whole chain of events. June would never again allow wearing the baseball cap out of the house to be optional. Anyway, she was sufficiently irritated that this Brad character had called her daughter his girlfriend. When there was an awkward pause in her mom’s impromptu discourse on consent, MJ realized her mom and Cindy didn’t know whether the other knew that she was still with Peter. She cleared that up and they spoke more freely. Though not too loudly.

“I’m assuming Brad isn’t in on the secret,” June said.

“No,” MJ replied at the same time that Cindy said, “ _Definitely_ not. Not that MJ already being in a relationship would necessarily have stopped him. It didn’t in Europe.”

June raised her eyebrows at this reported audacity.

“Then I’m sure the two of you set him straight,” she said.

MJ snorted.

“ _One of us_ certainly didn’t hold back. I think Bad Cop over here―” She pointed at Cindy. “―would’ve had Brad in a chokehold if we’d stayed much longer.”

“Oh please,” Cindy said, rolling her eyes. “I was subtle.”

“You called him an asshole,” MJ reminded her.

“I implied it.” She waved a dismissive hand. “He was too dizzy from the tornado of my rhetoric to notice.”

“Nice work,” June praised before the two of them could debate Cindy’s effectiveness any further.

“Thank you.”

“How about one more stop and then you two can go back to the apartment and lie on the floor and watch a movie?”

“You’re not coming?” MJ asked.

“Hey, this is my shopping day too. Some of us can handle a little heat,” her mom bragged.

“This isn’t ‘a little heat,’ this is like walking through hot soup.”

“Good,” June shot back. “I love soup.”

MJ groaned.

“What’s the last stop?” Cindy piped up.

“MJ needs a new backpack. She left hers in England.”

“Don’t say it like that.”

“Like what, Michelle?”

“Like I did it by accident because I’m careless,” MJ complained. “I had to leave it. The airline would never have let me bring it back as a carryon. It _reeked_ of smoke. There were the explosions on the bridge and before that, the lava dude in Prague.”

“There was a lot of fire on that trip,” Cindy said thoughtfully.

“And you probably managed to stay away from it,” June guessed.

“Well, it wasn’t my boyfriend who was always right in the middle of it. It was very selfless of MJ to try to help, even if her backpack was a casualty.”

June glanced from Cindy to MJ with a smile. She secretly loved it when her daughter’s friends stood up to her, MJ knew, because it proved that MJ was forming good friendships.

“Ok,” her mom conceded. “Let’s get the martyr a backpack.”

While they completed this final errand, MJ considered getting a new backpack for Peter too. His hadn’t faired any better. Though she and Ned had planned to look after it after Peter left for Berlin, it somehow disappeared between their departure from Prague and their arrival back in New York. Oh well, if they couldn’t escape with their luggage, at least they’d escaped with their lives. She ended up passing on a backpack for her boyfriend; seemed like something Tony Stark or one of Peter’s other super-sitters could take care of if May put her foot down and refused to get him another one.

She and Cindy went back to the apartment and did indeed lie on the tile for a while, until MJ remembered there were freezies. Then, they stretched out on the floor sucking freezies, cutting the corners of their mouths on the sharp plastic as they squeezed the ice up the sleeves and attempted to wring the last of the liquid from them once the ice was gone. They showed each other their tongues―MJ’s red, Cindy’s blue―then MJ heaved herself up to get them another round of freezies to consume while they watched TV.

They settled on rewatching season three of _Stranger Things_. She had to interrupt Cindy’s Ally Sheedy binge, so she was swapping Sheedy out for another late-20th-century female film icon: Winona Ryder. MJ didn’t say that out loud though, or that she’d purposely selected something late in the actress’s existing oeuvre to remind Cindy that these women were no longer teenagers. Whatever. They both enjoyed the Pied Piper-ish, rat-luring flesh-monster from this season. Additional motives were unnecessary.

Between episodes two and three, while Cindy was in the bathroom presumably peeing blue raspberry, MJ’s phone rang. She grabbed it off the table and slumped back into her spot on the couch. Though it wouldn’t be Peter calling since this was her regular phone, it could be her mom. Maybe she wanted Cindy to stay for dinner and was calling to ask where they wanted takeout from. But when MJ checked the screen, her mom’s name hadn’t come up. Actually, there wasn’t a name displayed. There wasn’t even a number. She scootched up a bit and glanced over the back of the couch in the direction of the bathroom. Should she wait for her friend to come back? It was probably just a telemarketer or something, but the lack of information on the screen made her paranoid. Then again, the last time she’d thought someone was out to get her, it had turned out to be a photographer for the _Daily Bugle_ , just doing the (creepy, invasive, Big-Brotherly) job he’d been assigned. She swiped to answer.

“Oh good, you picked up!” said a cheerful, accented voice. It was definitely no one MJ knew and she frowned. On the plus side, she didn’t think an anonymous threat would begin with so much pep.

“Yeah... hi. Who is this?”

“I’m a friend of your boyfriend.”

Ok, MJ was back to being suspicious that this was some kind of threat, if not of violence then of an imminent and doomed attempt at boyfriend-stealing. After a second of silence, she realized the bigger issue was that this person seemed to know―not just _think_ because there was a level of certainty in their tone―that she and Peter hadn’t broken up. Still, you never told someone who might be threatening or tricking you exactly what they wanted to hear.

“I’m single,” MJ said as Cindy walked back in and pointed questioningly at the phone. MJ shrugged. Her friend sat on the arm of the couch, elbows on her knees and face cupped in her hands as she watched.

“Of course. I respect that you are being careful. I, too, am being careful, which is why I didn’t say my name. Apparently, it is not _allowed_.”

“Princess!” a second voice snapped in the background.

“You have given it away!” the first person responded. “Now you’ve undercut your own scheme.”

“It was not a scheme. Your brother has set in place certain security protocols―”

The caller must have pressed the phone against her hand or something, because for a minute there were only rustling noises. It gave MJ some space to think, but what she was thinking seemed very unlikely. A friend of Peter’s. Security protocols to withhold her identity. Addressed as ‘Princess’? Had Peter given out her number to Wakandan royalty? She knew they’d arrived in the country a week ago and her boyfriend hadn’t said anything about them having left yet. _Wakanda?_ she mouthed to Cindy, whose eyes went wide.

“―and I don’t care if he wants to call it that because as far as I am concerned, a trip to America is a _holiday_ and I am not going home without seeing the Statue of Liberty! Sorry about that,” the princess concluded, this part apparently directed at the phone.

“I think I know who you are,” MJ blurted. She liked to have things out in the open. Or, as in the open as they could be where privacy and royal discretion were concerned.

“Perfect! That will save a lot of time, though I did prepare a list of questions for you to ask me, sort of like the game Twenty Questions...”

“ _Princess_!” The voice was less sharp this time, but more aggravated.

“It is your own fault for not playing it with me on the flight here. Do you think I will ever be allowed to go on a real road trip? No. And still, you do not indulge me.” This, again, had seemed meant for the person who wasn’t MJ.

“What can I, um, do for you, Your Highness?” MJ wasn’t sure that was the correct address. She was just happy to get the words out with how dry her throat had become since guessing the caller’s identity. Cindy, clearly equally in awe, slipped off the arm of the couch and down onto the cushion.

The voice― _Princess Shuri_ ―laughed.

“No, MJ,” she said, and MJ freaked out on the inside at the sound of her nickname, “I have done something for you, but all will soon be revealed. Please tell me, do you already have plans for breakfast tomorrow?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's one scene in this fic that I was picturing vividly when I began and it's in the next chapter. If you put the Blake Edwards tag together with Shuri's enquiry, there's your preview!


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whatever the clock says when you're reading this, good morning! Breakfast ( _at Tiffany's_ ) time!

XXIII

‘Have Breakfast with Princess’ sounded like something off a family’s Disney vacation itinerary. It was true that MJ couldn’t imagine there being a happier place on earth than where she’d be meeting Princess Shuri that morning, but the comparison ended there. She wouldn’t be bringing along some kind of Avengers & Friends autograph book to collect the princess’s signature, gushing about how big of a fan she was (hopefully), or wearing a hat with mouse ears. There _was_ a dress code though. At first, MJ had believed this must be standard for an audience with a member of the royal family, but it turned out Princess Shuri just dug a theme and wanted to make the most of her experience in New York City. MJ respected that. Who knew, maybe if they got along and the princess had time in her schedule they could protest at the consulate of Her Royal Highness’s choosing. Or maybe not, since Princess Shuri was a political figure herself. MJ definitely didn’t want to be instrumental in encouraging the princess into something that could have diplomatic ramifications. Well, they could start with breakfast.

MJ reached into her closet for the garment bag tucked against the back, unzipping it to extract the black dress she’d worn to her grandmother’s funeral a couple years earlier. The princess had told her over the phone that any black dress would do and was prepared to buy her one if she didn’t own one already. MJ would’ve felt weird about that, so she was glad she had the appropriate wardrobe. The best thing was that the dress was linen; if temperatures soared as high as they had the day before, she wouldn’t get too sweaty in front of the princess.

Because she hadn’t been given any instructions beyond the dress, MJ went for high-top sneakers (in case they had to walk) and swirled her hair into a loose pile on top of her head, like yesterday. She didn’t plan to leave it like that, but she wouldn’t see the princess until she arrived at the set location and she wasn’t interested in overheating in the meantime.

Her mom forced a glass of water on her for hydration, then a glass of juice for a little sugar hit until she got some food in her stomach. When she started slathering her exposed arms in sunscreen before MJ could do it herself, she realized her mom was full of nervous energy. June hadn’t been this excited about a royal since Meghan Markle married Prince Harry, and that had only been on TV; her daughter was about to meet a real-life princess. But if she started making a big deal about this, then MJ’s carefully supressed internal panicking would transform into external panicking and she wouldn’t be able to get a single word out at breakfast. She’d fail Princess Shuri, she’d fail Peter, and she’d fail herself. She could do this. She _would_ do this. MJ rubbed in the too-thick smear of sunscreen her mom had smacked onto the back of her neck and marched out of the apartment (forgetting her key, but June was home today and could let her back in).

Without transit options of her own at her disposal, the princess had assured MJ that a self-driving car would be dispatched for her from the compound. It was waiting at the curb. There was no one in it, but she hadn’t expected to meet Princess Shuri that way, while she was crouched over as she climbed into the backseat, trying to simultaneously tuck the skirt of her dress underneath her and not bump her head on the ceiling. The time and space to clear her mind on the way over was good. Traffic would make it a bit of a drive, even at 8:30am on a Sunday, and MJ planned to close her eyes and enjoy the air conditioning. Almost immediately, she opened them, wondering if this was the car that had driven her and Ned to and from Peter’s birthday party, or the car that had taken her to the compound for the first time. Could be, which meant that her boyfriend had almost groped her boob exactly where she was now sitting. Ah, memories.

Now that she was thinking about him, she had to text him. She’d brought both of her phones with her today in her backpack purse and got out the one that was all about Peter.

 _Tell me this is going to go well_ , she tapped out.

 _It’ll be so great!_ he texted back right away. Must have had his phone in hand in case she needed reassurance today. Nerd. MJ smiled to herself and read his next message: _She’s really nice and super cool. Mr. Stark thinks you have some things in common._

_Oh yeah? Like what?_

_Irreverence. Towards him specifically._

_Then we are definitely going to get along._

_I think so. Excited for your surprise?_ Peter asked.

 _Excited/really hoping that this isn’t the same surprise as the one you’ve been working on._ She flushed in embarrassment at the thought that anyone else was in on their secret, which was totally unhelpful in terms of trying to arrive non-sweaty. She fanned the back of her neck with her hand.

_No! I swear it’s not! I mean, Shuri would probably get it done way faster and she wouldn’t have to build it out of spare parts, but trust me―B.A.R.F. is between you and me. Nobody else._

_Then I can sincerely wish her the best of luck in constructing a sex fantasy simulation for/with her own boyfriend._

_I don’t think she has one_ , Peter informed her, _but that’s a nice thing to say. Maybe not in person though._

_Really, Peter? Before you said that, technology that enables enhanced sex fantasies was the first thing I was planning to mention to her._

_I’m just trying to help!_

_Ok then, nerd. What else?_ MJ wanted to know. Some genuine advice would be welcome because she was getting closer to her destination.

_No bowing. I guess Dr. Banner did that and it made shit awkward._

_Banner’s the best. Thank him for taking one for the team. The ‘no bowing’ thing is actually really good to know._

_I’ll tell him._

MJ set her phone down on the seat beside her for a second and thought. What else did she need to know? There were probably other cultural blunders she could make since she’d never hung out with any Wakandan royals before (or any other class of Wakandans, or royals from anywhere else), but Peter’s own knowledge of those wouldn’t be much more extensive than her own. Mainly, MJ didn’t want to do something dumb, like step on the princess’s foot or spill food on herself. Bottom line, Princess Shuri seemed awesome and MJ wanted her to think she was interesting and smart and stuff, even as she felt her brain emptying with every passing pretzel stand. She grabbed her phone again.

_You can’t give me any hints about what she’s doing for me or giving me?_

_Sorry_ , Peter replied. _I can just tell you that it’s soooo amazing and you’re gonna freak out._

 _Can you use a more comforting phrase than ‘freak out’?_ MJ requested. Her sneaker had begun to bounce on the floor of the backseat.

After a minute, her boyfriend edited himself with, _You’re gonna be really, really happy and calm because she’s pretty much fulfilling one of your dreams._

 _Also_ , he added as MJ was contemplating which dream Peter could possibly mean, _you’ll love me even more for suggesting this and we’ll have the best sex ever next time I see you._

She snorted a laugh. All of that combined did actually make her feel better and calmer about the situation she was walking (and driving) into. She only had a single correction.

_I thought you told me whatever this is was originally Romanoff’s idea? I’m going to have to pass on the thank-you sex if it’s not with you._

_Awww!_ her boyfriend texted, ignoring the first part of her message. Whatever. She’d just say thanks whenever she ran into the spy next. Hopefully, there wouldn’t be a zipline involved in any way. The car detoured for construction and MJ pulled up a map on her regular phone, leaving the spy-phone in her lap. They were approaching from a different direction, but the location was just two streets away.

 _I’ll talk to you later, ok?_ she texted Peter.

_Do you feel calmer?_

_I did for a minute or two. Now, my hands are shaking._ MJ had to type ‘shaking’ three times to get the spelling right with her trembling fingers.

_Remember, she’s basically our age. There’s nothing to be scared of._

_Hope not._

_I love you_ , Peter replied. _Have a great time!_

_Love you too._

She could barely feel her legs under her when the car veered gently towards the curb and stopped, letting her out. MJ slung her backpack on and stumbled out. Somewhere between shutting the car door and taking two steps down the sidewalk, she went into a kind of trance and forgot to take the elastic out of her hair like she’d planned. There was a slim girl in a black dress standing maybe ten feet from her, gazing at a storefront. A few things gave away that this wasn’t just anyone―the woman with perfect posture and watchful eyes who was so obviously guarding her, the building they were standing in front of, and the fact that the girl’s silhouette, from her narrow black dress to the braided hair she’d arranged like a ‘60s beehive, screamed Audrey Hepburn in _Breakfast at Tiffany’s_.

MJ had known about the dress code, and that they were meeting at the jewellery store, but it was still surreal to walk towards a princess dressed as an iconic film character. It was like a really weird, super glamorous dream. Her throat was dry, so she could only swallow and nod at the guard, who had noticed her first. She must have said something under her breath because then Princess Shuri turned to face her. Sliding oversized sunglasses down her nose, she grinned at MJ.

“You made it! Wonderful! I have a few things for you.”

“Hi,” MJ said weakly, completely clueless as to what she was about to be presented with and blinking when the princess pushed a warm paper cup into her hand. Next, she handed MJ a croissant, just peeking out of a crinkly white bag.

“What do you think, coffee first, or pastry?”

“That is not coffee,” the woman guarding the princess commented, keeping her eyes on the street.

“Fine, _hot chocolate_ ,” the princess conceded. “Would it kill you to have a little imagination?”

“I’m MJ,” MJ finally offered.

“Yes, I know. I’m Shuri. I would ask you to call me by my first name on any occasion, but especially here. Okoye is afraid of attracting attention by calling me ‘Princess.’ You understand.”

“Oh, sure.”

“That may be a lost cause regardless. I told you no diamonds. You are trying to get us mugged,” Okoye accused.

“As if anyone could mug you! And they are not diamonds,” the princess said defensively. She touch the tiara nestled into her hair that MJ had barely noticed because, hello, _princess_. Sure enough, it glittered when she turned her head.

“What are they if they aren’t diamonds?” she wondered aloud. Asking questions felt natural and it was better than awed silence, she thought.

“Completely synthetic,” Shuri said. “They require no mining, no external resources of any kind. I made them in my lab.”

“That’s _awesome_.”

“Thank you! Would you like to wear yours?”

“Mine?”

Shuri handed her hot chocolate to Okoye and bent to a small pack sitting at her feet. She extracted a tiara identical to the one she was wearing and stood with it held in both hands, reaching towards MJ. Which was, of course, when MJ remembered her sloppy updo.

“Oh, shit, my hair,” she said, reaching up as well.

“It will work perfectly.” The princess worked the tiara into MJ’s hair, in front of where she’d piled it up. “There. Very secure.”

“Yours looks amazing,” MJ offered, waving her croissant towards Shuri’s intricate braids. She took a drink from her cup.

“I did my best. It would have been easier with an extra pair of hands.”

After saying this, Shuri shot a glance at Okoye, who didn’t answer.

“A pity hairstyling is not one of your many skills,” the princess concluded.

Her guard turned her head slightly to look at her. Subtly, she lifted the edge of what MJ hadn’t realized was a wig, revealing a bald head beneath.

“I am out of practice,” Okoye joked dryly.

So far, the Wakandans were exceeding all of MJ’s wildest dreams. She took another sip of her hot chocolate, then a bite of her croissant, trying not to move her head too much; she knew the tiara wasn’t made of real diamonds, but it had been fabricated by a princess, which made it insanely valuable. Wait, was this why they had met? Shuri was giving her a tiara? Why the hell would Romanoff have suggested that? As she stood almost shoulder to shoulder with the princess, contemplating everything that sparkled behind the window of Tiffany’s, MJ tried to think of how she could ask. If the tiara was the reason for the meeting, that was strange, but she didn’t want to sound ungrateful. If it wasn’t, she didn’t want to sound like she was demanding her real gift and didn’t care about the much greater honour of getting to meet two people from such an incredible place.

“After this, we are getting you a cronut,” Shuri told Okoye. Turning to MJ, she said, “She refused to get anything when I did.”

“I would like my hands to be free,” Okoye explained, not looking over this time.

“Yes, yes, of course, but you could certainly fight someone by throwing a hot coffee at them.”

“Then I would lose my coffee.”

Shuri snorted.

“Do they still make cronuts?” she asked MJ. “It has taken so long for my brother to allow me to visit New York City that the trend might have come and gone.”

“I actually don’t know,” she replied. “Maybe?”

“There, Okoye,” the princess said soothingly. “There is still hope.”

“I could not care less.”

“You are very convincing, but I am sure you are lying. Never fear. I will make your cronut dreams come true.” Shuri smiled persistently at her guard until Okoye gave her a tired look from the corner of her eye. Then, the princess laughed and leaned towards MJ. “As you can see, Okoye was thrilled to be assigned to me today.”

MJ laughed too.

“There’s only so long you can hang out with Stark.”

“Yes! An intelligent man, but it is very difficult to resist cutting him down to size when he becomes arrogant. T’Challa has reprimanded me for this multiple times a day since we arrived.”

“I guess his reprimanding isn’t very effective,” MJ observed.

The princess grinned.

“He may be a king, but he is still my brother, and a brother, like a king, must occasionally have his commands tested. It is good for him.”

“Good for Stark too. He does enough humbling of his own to afford to be humbled himself every once in a while. Has he told you about CondomGate yet?”

This wasn’t a story MJ would have volunteered to most people (or anyone), but she already liked Princess Shuri a lot and it was easy to tell her. They stood in front of the jewellery store, talking and eating, both laughing as MJ tried to get the story out, and she found that Peter was right; Shuri was great. She was cool and smart and effortless to talk to. Unfortunately, MJ was repaying her boyfriend’s reassurances by spilling this embarrassing story about him, but she doubted Shuri would repeat it to anyone other than Peter. It would give Tony a break when the princess went back to the compound and teased his protégé for a while instead. MJ was re-establishing the Avengers ecosystem.

“Now, I should show you the purpose for your trip,” Shuri said when they’d finished with their breakfast and with Tiffany’s. She lifted her pack and MJ could tell there was something still inside it. “Why don’t we sit in your car?”

With Okoye close behind them, they walked back to the car that had brought MJ into Manhattan. Shuri climbed into the backseat first and, as MJ followed her, she wondered if Okoye would stand guard outside or join them. Before she’d shut the door behind her, she had her answer as Okoye got into the driver’s seat.

“I am not leaving you in a car that can drive itself away,” she remarked, seeming to catch Shuri’s eye in the rearview mirror.

“Yes, but if I did get kidnapped by use of a self-driving car, you could blame Tony Stark and whack him over the head with your spear,” Shuri cheerfully suggested.

“Never joke about being kidnapped.”

But MJ saw Okoye’s smile.

“So,” Shuri said, twisting in her seat until her knees hit MJ’s. She unzipped her pack and pulled out a matte-black cylinder. “Discrete,” she said, balancing it across her palms.

Then, she held it in one hand and flicked her fingers along the length of it with her other hand, like swiping a phone screen. The cylinder clearly hadn’t been a hollow tube; it extended and reconfigured, metal shifting and tiling itself to form a ball. Shuri gave the controls a final brush and spikes popped out of the sphere. MJ’s jaw dropped.

“Attack mode,” Shuri told her with a grin. “Here, it isn’t heavy.”

And the Princess of Wakanda passed MJ her new mace.

“Holy shit,” she breathed, handling it with care. Well, some care. She shifted it from one hand to the other and one of the spikes sliced a clean line through the leather coating the back of the driver’s seat. Her eyes went wide. This thing was fucking _sharp_. “Sorry,” MJ added belatedly.

Shuri waved her off.

“If there was no swearing, I would be disappointed. This reaction tells me I’ve done my job.”

“ _Thank you_. Romanoff asked you to make this for me?”

“She said she promised you she would acquire one.”

MJ was dumbfounded for a minute. Then, she remembered their conversation in the back of that crêpe truck.

“I guess she did say she could make a call.”

“Well, in the end there was no need. I came to her. It was fun to have a project this week. When they aren’t fighting, the work of the Avengers is more tedious than I imagined.”

“Thank you,” MJ said again. “This is... How does it work?”

Eagerly, Shuri leaned closer, retracted the spiked ball first, then started from the beginning to show MJ how to operate the controls. They were hard to spot, but not invisible. Once MJ practiced extending and collapsing the weapon a few times, it felt pretty intuitive. Her hand wasn’t tired of gripping it either. Like the princess said, it wasn’t heavy and, since MJ now also knew it was solid with components all the way through, she was sure this wasn’t any metal she was familiar with. Which meant it was probably Wakandan. Which meant it was special.

“Am I even allowed to have this?” MJ checked, holding up the cylinder that was now in discrete mode but, according to Shuri, still dangerous as a baton.

“Legally, definitely not,” the princess laughed. “But certain allowances have always been made for the Avengers in America, haven’t they?”

“But I’m not an Avenger,” she whispered.

Maybe there’d been some kind of misunderstanding. Maybe they thought she was enhanced because Peter was enhanced and she was going out with Peter and knew his secrets and got invited to parties at the compound like she was on the inside.

“And who’s going to make you one? Stark? You can’t wait for one of those men to let you into the club,” Shuri urged. “I certainly am not. If you are connected to them, you need the tools to defend yourself. But I am sure that you knew this already. It was you who had a specific weapon in mind.”

“Yeah, I kinda briefly stole one of these things from the Crown Jewels vault in London.”

“ _Cool_. You must tell me that story another time.”

As she opened the door and got back out of the car, MJ agreed. She held the door wide as the princess exited after her, informing Shuri that Peter would be able to tell some of it. If there was time to ask him about it. Obviously, hearing about CondomGate would take precedence, and making fun of him after hearing about it would take much longer than the story itself. The princess should have plenty to keep her entertained for the rest of her stay Upstate. She wasn’t heading back just yet though―she had a full itinerary planned for her day in New York City and Okoye seemed to have softened to the idea of a cronut.

At the last second, MJ remembered the tiara and pulled it out of her hair, probably making even more of a mess of whatever was going on on top of her head. Though Shuri resisted taking it back, MJ was adamant. It was beautiful, but it wasn’t something she needed. Bizarrely, the mace was the item that really felt like it belonged to her. So Shuri took the tiara back and MJ waved goodbye to her and Okoye, then got into the car with a sigh. The heat of the city was rising around her and she was ready to get home to crunch on a freezie and, whenever her mom wasn’t in the room, swing her mace around the kitchen.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **WORLDS ARE ABOUT TO COLLIDE!**
> 
> Also, anybody notice the lack of endnotes last chapter? Did ya? Hmmm?

XXIV

MJ was probably bothering Peter with all her texts. He was definitely the kind of boyfriend (and person) who _wanted_ to hear from her all the time―whatever she felt the need to tell him, the most insignificant details of her day―but at the moment, she was largely utilizing him as her middleman. The texts were all effusive thanks and they were merely passing through Peter’s virtual hands on their way to Romanoff, the architect of Mission: Get MJ a Mace. Yeah, Peter might’ve been getting the short end of the gratitude stick because MJ knew he fully supported her being armed with something _super_ badass in case danger came a-calling. She couldn’t help that she and Romanoff just had an understanding, a _bond_ even, and that it had only been strengthened by her making good on that promise to see that MJ received her weapon of choice. It was a woman thing; her boyfriend couldn’t understand, nor should he feel jealous.

She figured his pride could be slightly dented though, what with this being the first time on record that he couldn’t, ahem, fulfill one of her needs himself. Oh, Peter. Sometimes, a girl had to go elsewhere for her bespoke Wakandan PDA. Ok, maybe naming it that was going too far, but it stood for Personal Defense Apparatus and she was pretty proud of herself for coming up with it (so was Princess Shuri, who MJ had made Peter tell). All other PDA she planned to engage in involved Peter. Maybe the mace would even make a sexy prop, as long as she kept the spikes retracted. And once she learned how to wave it around for more than five seconds without destroying something. (RIP toaster oven, bathroom shelf, and the section of wall right above the television. MJ had pointed out to her mom that the last incident could’ve been a lot worse.)

He did seem to appreciate the pictures she sent for him in between the texts for other people. She took selfies wearing a serious expression while posed like Rosie the Riveter, but with her mace clenched in her fist. She documented the gradually-lessening damage to the apartment and her mom’s possessions. It was so great having Peter on this journey with her―learning to use a technologically-advanced weapon through trial and error was something she never would’ve guessed she’d share with him. He _totally_ related and drew from a bottomless well of anecdotes of his clumsiness while getting the hang of the suits Tony had given him and the protocols installed therein.

They stayed up way too late talking two nights in a row (though Peter was supposed to be preparing for his English exam) after her mom threatened to make MJ return the mace if she didn’t quit demolishing their home. Really, that was pretty fair of June, especially since she’d taken the whole mace thing so well in the first place, but it was still upsetting. MJ was already attached to her PDA; it made her feel closer to Peter because it gave them something new to talk about. It made her feel _so_ close to him that, during one of those two late nights, she offered to name it after him (PDA was just its title and she felt it deserved something more personal). Peter was thrilled until they were texting the next day, he asked if her mace had a certain function, and she responded, _Let me just grab Peter’s shaft_. What? That was part of the mace! The shaft! It was the long section where the controls were! She had to rescind on that name. Seeking to placate her boyfriend, she proposed calling it Luke―because _Star Wars_ and junk―but _apparently_ naming the object she’d made phallic reference to after another man wasn’t acceptable either. Picky, picky.

(MJ had since named it ‘Mace-y Gray’ and if anyone wanted to challenge that, they could fight her. No, seriously. They could literally fight her, she’d like to see them fucking try it. This mace could really do a number on small appliances and living room walls.)

If only there were more settings in which it was appropriate to flaunt a mace. Romanoff and Princess Shuri were both willing to freak out about how cool her mace-ownership was whenever MJ incited said freak-out, but she did have _some_ quantity of compassion for her boyfriend, so she gradually eased back from using him as her delivery boy. And then she made a note that said ‘Spider-Man delivery boy? Roleplay???’ Her mom appreciated her developing skills insofar as they would assist her in self-defence, which June sincerely hoped MJ would never need, though the reminder that her child could be put in danger tempered any other enthusiasm she may have had.

 _Cindy_. MJ would show Cindy. She’d lecture her ahead of time about keeping this a secret, and then it’d be fine. She just needed the right forum. Swinging the mace around her apartment was no longer tolerated and MJ certainly wasn’t good enough to want to swing it around at Cindy’s and break all of the Moons’ stuff. She was puzzled until Peter texted, once again acting as a go-between, and told her Princess Shuri was inviting her to go on a private tour of Yankee Stadium. And it wouldn’t be so much of a tour as _complete_ privacy to explore without a guide. That would be the perfect place to wield a weapon! Wide-open space, security cameras shut off for the princess’s privacy, the princess herself on hand to give pointers! MJ agreed immediately, with the caveat that she’d be allowed to bring a friend. Her caveat was accepted.

MJ wouldn’t have wanted to say that she pulled a few strings to completely blow Cindy’s mind the next day when they went to the stadium―she didn’t see herself as a string-puller―but it was possible that she’d made one more request through Peter (poor kid). She’d been very specific that the request should only be granted if convenient. If this was going to detract from a mission, or even just make Tony Stark point a finger at her and yell about something she’d inevitably tune out, she could live without it. MJ discovered that her request would cause no such problems when the car taking them to meet up with the princess pulled up in front of MJ’s apartment building, where she was waiting with Cindy, and the back door swung open to reveal Romanoff.

Cindy was utterly silent with amazement for the first half of the ride, staring at the Avenger with hero-struck eyes. Romanoff was chill enough to hold a conversation with MJ while her temporarily _psychotic_ best friend’s gaze remained fixed on her. When Cindy did abruptly start talking, she didn’t stop. MJ put on some Stravinsky to subtly soothe her, though she was also happy that her friend was getting all of this excitement out―Cindy would’ve been furious at herself later if she’d wasted this chance to talk to Romanoff.

They didn’t notice when the car stopped at their destination (well, the one who was a spy probably did), or when MJ got out of the car, or when she slammed the door, but they did notice when she opened the one on Romanoff’s side and smiled sarcastically in at them, watching her best friend blink her way back to the reality that an entire world existed beyond speed-befriending an Avenger.

“Hey, guys,” MJ said. “How are we getting along?”

Romanoff laughed softly to herself and slid from the backseat, extracting a pair of sunglasses from her shirt pocket; Cindy emerged less gracefully after her.

“You’re lucky I met you first,” Cindy informed MJ. “I could be best friends with her, even if she is twenty years older than me.”

“Eighteen,” Romanoff countered, pushing her shades into place, “but who’s counting?”

Cindy let out an excited squeak and MJ rolled her eyes, grabbing her friend’s hand so they could follow the spy inside. She wasn’t staying―the reason it had been so easy to swing this meet-and-greet was because Romanoff had other business in the city―but she would stick with them until they reached Princess Shuri. It was amazing to see such a big place so quiet as they walked past restrooms and concessions. Finally, MJ spotted Okoye. She’d figured the warrior would be here. First of all, the princess wouldn’t go anywhere unguarded. Second of all, MJ had a little baby suspicion that Romanoff might be almost as protective of her as Okoye was of Princess Shuri. Third of all… they weren’t alone.

“Peter!” MJ burst out, sprinting towards her boyfriend the second he stepped into view.

He seemed surprised by her exuberance (he shouldn’t have been―it’d been a good two weeks since they’d met in person), but not too surprised to put his arms out and receive the hug she hurtled into him with.

“I thought…” she began, arms locked around him, “…your exam?”

“Wrote it first thing this morning.” He squeezed her a bit tighter. “Hey, you feel really good, you know that?”

MJ smiled into his neck. Glancing up, she caught Romanoff’s eye. The spy signalled that she was heading out.

“Did you know?” MJ mouthed, pointing at the back of Peter’s head.

Romanoff shrugged, smirked, and waved goodbye.

“Is it safe for you to be out like this?” MJ demanded as she pulled back.

Peter smiled.

“I don’t know if traveling with royalty is the best way to sneak into New York, but it’s the best way I’ve tried so far. They do things really quietly. And I don’t have to ride on top of a truck,” he noted with a smile. “Are you surprised?” Peter asked when MJ only smiled back.

“So surprised.” Finally, she tore her eyes briefly away from his face. “I should make introductions.”

“Oh, yeah. Right.”

“Hey, Cindy,” she said, somehow still looking at Peter as she stepped away from him. His hand slipped naturally into hers. “This is General Okoye and Princess Shuri. Is that a good enough introduction?” she whispered to her boyfriend.

“I think so. They seem pretty relaxed about the formal stuff. Titles and bowing and stuff.”

“Ok, good. So, Cindy,” MJ began, turning to look at her friend properly, “you know you could’ve…”

She trailed off. Cindy and the princess were staring at each other, within handshake distance. MJ frowned for a second, wondering if they’d already made the introductions for themselves and she’d missed it, literally and figuratively wrapped up in her reunion with Peter, but as she watched, they continued to stare.

“Uh, what’s happening here?” Peter asked Okoye.

“They have been like this since you two girls walked over here with Natasha,” she said, lifting an eyebrow. Her gaze shifted to MJ and it seemed to say, _Why don’t_ you _go ahead and explain this?_

“Cindy?” the princess finally checked.

“Yeah,” Cindy said back. The way her talkativeness had completely died down again made MJ lower her eyebrows in confusion. Then the rambling kicked in. “I mean, _yes_. Yes, I’m Cindy Moon, Princess.”

Princess Shuri beamed.

“Just ‘Shuri’ will be fine.”

“Wonderful,” Okoye cut in flatly. “Now can we make our way down to the field? We have been standing here so long that I have memorized the price of the hot dogs and every disgusting thing you can order on top of them.”

“Aw, you’ve never had a chili cheese dog?” Peter questioned, shocked. “You don’t know what you’re missing!”

MJ listened to her boyfriend unfold the joys of concession food to the warrior as they walked. One of her hands continued to hold his while the other felt the solid shape of the mace in her backpack. But her eyes, her eyes were always on Cindy and Shuri, walking ahead of the rest of them. It was probably nothing. Just her best friend losing her shit over a member of the Wakandan royal family. Maybe MJ should’ve postponed introducing her to Romanoff; two big introductions in one day was probably a lot for Cindy to deal with, because it would be a lot for anyone who’d heard of the Avengers and Wakanda to deal with. By the time their feet touched grass, she could hear Cindy and the princess talking, so at least they’d gotten past that awkward muteness, or whatever that had been.

“Let’s see it,” Peter encouraged, dropping MJ’s hand when they halted to let her swing her backpack off and retrieve the mace.

“As if you haven’t already seen it,” she said.

“I haven’t seen it in person!”

“You didn’t see it before the princess gave it to me?”

“Fine, I might have taken a look, but I haven’t seen _you_ with it in person.”

“Alright,” MJ conceded. She held out her weapon and, with a couple of quick flicks to the controls, had the head of the mace formed, spikes included.

“Mother _fuck_ ,” Cindy breathed, breaking the epic stillness of the moment. Peter laughed.

“You have gotten good at that,” Shuri complimented. “Have you practiced with the controls?”

“Oh yeah,” MJ assured her. “My apartment looks like a warzone. My mom told me―”

“Crap,” Peter said, cutting her off. She turned to him.

“What is it?”

“Oh, it’s, it’s a thing with Ned. He’s calling me.” He pulled out his phone as he said this. “MJ, do you think you could come with me for a sec? Ned and Betty just got into a huge fight and maybe you could say something to him?”

“To help Ned patch things up with Betty? I don’t know if I really have the skills for that,” MJ readily admitted.

“No, you do, you’ll be perfect. Can you just talk to him for a minute?”

“I guess so,” she agreed, though she felt bad leaving Okoye, Shuri, and Cindy standing there when they’d just arrived, _and_ they were here for her.

MJ held the mace out for Shuri to take.

“You’re not even going to swing it around before you go?” Cindy asked.

“I’m coming right back,” MJ promised as Peter started to tug her away. “Besides, you need to prepare yourself for what that’s going to look like first. Mace-handling is incredibly badass. If you saw someone swinging that thing around, you’d fall in love with them immediately.”

“You’re so full of yourself,” Cindy taunted, flipping her off. MJ grinned and presented her own middle finger before facing forward and letting Peter rush them off the field.

He poked around for a minute, seeming to barely notice her, then pushed open a door that ended up being for a locker room. He dragged her in after him. She should’ve doubted that dumb Ned story long before Peter shoved his phone back into his pocket and pinned her to the wall just inside, kissing her ravenously.

“Ned and Betty didn’t have a huge fight?”

“Not lately,” Peter said in a pant before planting his mouth on hers again. MJ broke away and it was like her hands had accepted what this situation was before her brain could because they were shoving her boyfriend’s t-shirt up and running covetously over his abs.

“So he didn’t just call you, desperate to save him and Betty from a relationship crisis?”

“Have you met them?” Peter shot back, suddenly cupping her boobs through her shirt. “Those two are stupid in-love. They’re fine.”

“Just to be clear then,” MJ said, swearing to her raging libido (he was feeling her up beneath the shirt now and she was already getting wet) that this would be the last interruption on her end. “You hustled me in here because…?”

“Because I saw you standing there holding a deadly weapon and I started getting hard.”

She laughed as Peter plunged close to kiss rapidly up and down her throat. Holding tight to the back of his neck with one hand, she placed the other on his ass and pressed him against her. Yep, his story checked out.

“I think there may be something seriously wrong with you, Spider-Man.”

He groaned into her skin and MJ grabbed his jaw to yank him back up into a kiss. Folding down the cups of her bra, Peter stroked his thumbs firmly across her nipples until she gasped into his mouth. As well as she could with their busy tongues in the way.

“I’m an idiot,” she realized as he twisted the button of her shorts open one-handed and began struggling with her zipper. “I don’t have a condom. I didn’t know you were coming.”

“Yeah, but _I_ knew,” Peter pointed out. “Back pocket.”

MJ slid the hand she had firmly clamped to his ass up, dipping her fingers into his pocket and feeling around his phone. Yep, there was something else in there and it felt promising. He got her shorts undone as she retrieved the condom and she almost dropped it in surprise at how enthusiastically Peter basically pantsed her, snatching the shorts down her legs to rest on her feet. Though he hadn’t removed her underwear, he swiftly cupped between her legs, breathing hard, then traced his middle finger around until he found her clit through the dark blue cotton. MJ gasped, grabbing his wrist and encouraging him to continue, then abruptly shoving him backwards with both hands on his chest.

“ _Holy shit_ ,” Peter said slowly as she flicked her shorts away and went to her knees. “We don’t really have time for this.”

Sounded half-hearted to her. Unfastening his jeans gently around the bulge straining the front of them, she smirked up at her boyfriend.

“Whatever you say, Spider-Man. I’ll just get you ready for action then.”

Unlike Peter, MJ took both layers down at once, sorta surprising herself with the sudden eye-level view of his erection. But whatevs, she could roll with it. She was the kind of girl who carried a _mace_ now. Springing oral on her boyfriend was no big deal.

The feeling of his eyes on her did make her a little self-conscious, so when she encircled his length in her fingers and gave a first, easy stroke, she closed her own eyes. When she gave him another pass, Peter panted. MJ did her best to imagine that she was hearing him over the phone. He was responding to her _describing_ pumping her hand along his dick, hitching his breath in anticipation when she _talked about_ leaning forward and brushing her lips along the pulsing head, digging his fingers into his _pillow_ rather than her hair as she parted her lips and applied her tongue to his sensitive skin. It turned out that all of those things were happening in reality and, by the time she’d slicked him up with her mouth for as long as he could bear, were enough to make her _very_ ready for the way Peter brought her to her feet, stripped her underwear off, and hoisted her to be trapped between his body and the wall. MJ rolled the condom on and gripped the back of his neck hard to draw him into a rough kiss as he prodded her from below, then pressed inside.

“You won’t drop me, right?” she asked on an exhale.

She was kidding; she had to, with Peter’s face so close and the awed expression on it as he held her eyes. Instead of the sappy reassurance she was expecting, he gave her a slight smile that tipped her off to trouble.

“Maybe a little,” he said as he slackened his arms. With less sturdy support, MJ sank down on him more and grabbed his shoulder as she cried out. “No, I got you, don’t worry,” Peter promised, lifting her higher again. She let out a shuddering breath at the way he glided to a near-complete withdrawal. “Sorry, is that too high?” The bastard let her fall again. It wasn’t more than an inch or two, but he intensified the sensation by pitching his hips up.

“If we were anywhere else right now,” MJ threatened, shifting against her boyfriend when he switched from teasing her to holding intolerably still, “I’d push you onto your back and get on top.”

“I know you would.”

Vengefully, she clenched around him, watching Peter choke on an inhale and flush with heat. Maybe it was too soon to smile smugly; he adjusted his hold on the underside of her thighs and looked down, lingering on the outline of the bra he’d manhandled away from her breasts and the nipples that would surely be visible through the tight fit of her t-shirt.

“But we’re not somewhere else,” he told her with a grin.

A second later, his mouth collided with hers and he guided her hips hard and fast against his surging ones. MJ threw both arms around the back of his neck. No, he wouldn’t drop her, but he could toss her up through the fucking ceiling if he lost himself in this as much as she was. Better to hold on while she still had brain cells willing to devote themselves to self-preservation. The rest of her was desire, riding Peter as aggressively as she could with him so in control of both of their movements.

This fuck was a sprint. When her boyfriend’s thrusts grew sloppier―paired with him making soft animal noises against her throat―though no less forceful, MJ reached awkwardly between them and rolled her clit back and forth beneath her fingertips until she was tingling all over and calling out his name. Peter drilled into her at the sound and she clung to him, welcoming the way his frantic bucking was drawing out her orgasm before his own hit. He slumped into her when it did and she petted his hair as he grit out, “Oh _god_ , M,” and filled the condom.

She was a little wobbly on her legs when he pulled out and set her down, but she shushed him before the excessive concern he sometimes showed her after sex could kick in. She had zero complaints about this and didn’t want the whine of his worry-voice to cut through the happy buzz she was sure they were both feeling. He chucked the condom and, with her eyes, she followed his perfect ass across the locker room to the garbage as he did it. After a minute of leaning her back against the cool wall, MJ fixed her bra and grabbed her shorts and underwear, initially putting more effort into watching Peter put his clothes back on than into redressing herself. He finished first and, catching her eye, walked up slowly and rebuttoned her shorts. When his knuckles skimmed across her abdomen, she almost delayed him for round two. But they had people waiting.

“Your face is pretty red,” she noted as they left the locker room. Peter fanned himself wildly with both hands and it made her laugh, though he was doing it seriously.

“Your hair’s kinda... from my hands,” he said back. It made him blush again and MJ grinned as she took an elastic off her wrist and just pulled her hair into a ponytail.

In their final few seconds before walking outside, they built a passable cover story. Apparently, Peter actually was planning to see Ned after this instead of going straight back to the compound with Okoye and the princess. They just had to tell the other three that Ned had forgotten Peter was coming to help him and that he’d called in a panic, scared of an imminent breakup. MJ considered saying that Betty had called her at the same time, looking for some support of her own, but involving more people risked making it too complicated. Cindy might feel compelled to check in with Betty. Instead, MJ would just say Peter had handed the phone off to her and she’d calmed Ned down with her less excitable voice. Good. They both felt better with a plan for how their slightly disheveled reappearance on the diamond was going to play out.

But they didn’t return to the suspicious stares they’d expected. They didn’t return to stares of any kind. Only Okoye glanced at them, and doing so clearly pulled her focus from what she was already watching―which, Peter and MJ discovered, was Shuri wrapping her arms around Cindy from behind. MJ walked faster, then jogged (ugh) over as she noticed that Cindy was holding the mace. Her friend might hurt herself! She hadn’t had the practice that MJ’d had! Steps away from them, she had to acknowledge that her friend wasn’t about to make some crazy motion with the weapon in her hands because, very gently, Shuri seemed to be correcting her grip. Cindy appeared far from shaking the princess off and giving the mace a test-drive. Honestly, she looked way more interested in her proximity to Shuri than to the weapon the princess had engineered.

“Do you remember what you said before you left?” Okoye questioned MJ.

She frowned for a second before recalling her warning to Cindy. Slowly, she nodded.

“Yes, well, your friend was growing tired of waiting for you, so what do you think the princess did with the mace? She swung it around,” Okoye answered her own enquiry.

“Huh,” Peter said as the three of them stood there, watching Shuri’s hands cover Cindy’s and Cindy take coy glances back at the princess over her shoulder.

“Don’t sound so surprised,” MJ told her boyfriend under her breath. “It’s not like seeing me hold that thing didn’t affect _you_.”

The girls finally noticed them and Shuri took a step back while Cindy hastily tucked hair behind her ear. When she took a hand off the mace to do that, the head of it swung down, scratching a shallow trench in the manicured lawn. Cindy was alarmed, but Shuri―once again with great care―took the mace back from her and quickly retracted its spikes. MJ stepped forward to reclaim it, but she couldn’t do the same with the princess’s attention, which had already fixed again on her best friend. She began describing something called vibranium gauntlets.

All MJ could do was roll her eyes at Cindy’s raptness as she moved away from the pair, extended the spikes in her mace, and got in the practice she’d come here for. Unfortunately, part of that included keeping her boyfriend at a distance. Given the opportunity, she knew he’d be just as quick to step up behind her with the excuse of coaching her into a more defensive stance or some bullshit. He did try to get closer, and was quick enough to dodge the sweeps of the mace that she hadn’t been aiming at him. But when he put his hand out in a request to give her new weapon a try for himself, MJ leveled it at him and, with a smirk, said, “You’ve got plenty of toys, Spider-Man. This one’s mine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next update takes us into the final five chapters of this fic! It's a Peter POV chapter and a bit of a roller coaster, so obviously Ned'll be there.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys! All the support for Cindy/Shuri in the comments on the last chapter! I was so touched!
> 
> Bit of a change in tone for this chapter...

XXV

Peter didn’t know what this feeling was, but he knew it was a weird one. It was the feeling of listening to Ned as he prepared to give his best friend advice right after he’d spent too long in the guy’s bathroom, giving himself a hasty and unglamorous sink bath to wash away any trace of sex-smell from his person. While they’d been at Yankee Stadium, he and MJ had made plans to meet up back at his and May’s apartment later. Peter couldn’t _wait_. Before that could happen though―he restlessly reminded himself―she had to drop Cindy off at home and eat dinner with her mom. Peter had to scarf pizza with Ned in between providing suitable responses to _so many_ details of his best friend’s relationship that he really didn’t want to hear.

“But Betty’s over the Night Monkey thing?” Peter checked, interrupting Ned’s assertion of his handjob prowess (to bolster his credibility, he’d been giving examples of instances when his girlfriend had shown clear signs of appreciation―Peter had not asked for examples).

“Dude, where have you been? No, never mind, I know where you’ve been. Thank god we still chat online. But that Night Monkey crisis was a lifetime ago,” Ned said with a blasé gesture.

“You were talking about it at my birthday party, man! That was like… two weeks ago!”

“Seventeen days.”

“Ok, seventeen days,” Peter agreed.

“So, like I said, a lifetime ago. What Betty and I have… it’s a growing flower. It’s a continuous dawn. It’s―”

“Honestly going to make me sick if you don’t take it easy on the metaphors. Just tell me what actually happened,” he urged, leaning back into the corner of the couch.

“She forgave me for making up Night Money,” Ned confirmed.

“And for keeping my identity a secret? She has to have,” Peter said. “You did that because I asked you to. It was a secret from everyone.”

“Yeah, we talked all of that out. What Dr. Banner had to say about patience and understanding and how to be straightforward really helped. I must’ve put his words into practice pretty well because Betty gets it now. Actually,” he said, perking up with a chuckle, “she told me it was super heroic of me to keep your secret.”

“It was,” Peter agreed, softening after letting himself get irritated by the way Ned liked to ramble about his relationship. He might be stressed, but he needed to remember to cut his best friend some slack. He’d barely seen the guy this summer. That wasn’t normal for them. They were always going to need to do some major catching up, and of course that would include discussing their relationships. It was just that Ned had slightly different boundaries.

“And then she asked me if I knew what the reward was for being so brave,” Ned went on. “And I said, ‘No, babe, will you tell me?’ Then Betty said, ‘But, babe, I could just show you.’ And the next thing I knew, she was getting down on her knees on the carpet and―”

Case in fucking point about boundaries.

“Whoa, that’s ok. I’m good. End of story.”

“Peter. You’re such a prude. It’s ok. You and I are going through the same things. We’re both educated, sexually voracious young men―”

“Ugh!”

“―in consenting relationships with a perfectly healthy physical component.”

“ _Dude_. No. Yes, but _no_ ,” Peter urged, hoping the disturbed expression he could feel on his face would make these horrific words stop leaving his best friend’s mouth―a mouth responsible for deeds that he really, really hadn’t needed to know anything about. Like, it was super great that Ned and Betty had such a strong, trusting connection and didn’t feel any shame in talking about the intimate side of that connection, but maybe other people minded.

…At the same time, he was sort of thinking how hilarious it would be to tell Betty that MJ was looking to learn new blowjob techniques, then watch his girlfriend get ambushed with a graphic conversation in the near future. (And, hey, if any interesting tips were imparted, Peter would not be averse to them being implemented in the near future after _that_ near future.)

“ _Fine_ ,” Ned sighed. “I hope you’ll feel comfortable coming to me about this stuff if you ever need to though.”

“These are words I never thought I’d be saying to you, but, Ned, _you’re not my dad_. Also, you called me over to help you with this stuff, so I’m confused. It doesn’t sound like you need help, with you acting all all-knowing and everything.”

“Peter, I’m a lifelong learner. A scholar with the curious heart of a child. Besides, you bring a different perspective to the table.”

“And that table is…?”

“A metaphorical support for the sexual banquet of our young passions.”

“I swear to god, dude, I will leave,” Peter threatened.

“You seeing MJ after this?”

“Yes, but don’t ask me about MJ right now,” he requested, shifting in his seat. “I feel weird bringing her into this conversation.”

“Ok, then how’s…” Ned frowned thoughtfully. “Flash? How’s Flash? Are you guys still talking?”

“Weirdly, yes,” Peter confessed.

“ _Weird_.”

“Yeah, well, you know that the school didn’t delete our accounts when the summer school courses ended, so Flash still messages me and I still message him back. The strangest thing about it is that it’s kinda not a big deal? I dunno.”

“Wasn’t he trying to flirt with you sometimes though?”

“He’d try it every once in a while,” Peter had to admit. “But there hasn’t been any of that since… maybe a couple weeks ago.”

“That’s good.”

“And he’s been nicer.” He stared at Ned’s open-mouthed shock, relating to it deeply. “Dude, I _know_ ,” he said insistently.

“But do you think he’s just being nice to try to, you know, get in your spidey-pants?”

“I don’t think he’s that devious. Flash is a pretty what-you-see-is-what-you-get guy, don’t you think?”

Ned nodded.

“Besides, the nice things aren’t anything remotely pick-up-line-y. He keeps offering to ‘lend an ear’ if I want to talk about ‘what I’m going through,’” Peter said, putting the guy’s words in air quotes. “He actually told me he _believes in me_ and that he’d be ‘proud to fight at Spider-Man’s side.’”

“ _Weird_!” his best friend commented again. “I mean, he’s definitely lying because, speaking as someone who’s honoured to help you kick ass from behind the scenes but would be a total chickenshit in an actual battle, Flash is a total chickenshit. It takes one to know one. But I guess he means it, if he seemed like he meant it.”

“He did. So… I think we might be friends now.”

“I like that for you two,” Ned said, squinting and nodding like Flash was a shirt Peter had tried on and Ned was a tailor, determining that it would be a good fit after minor alterations. “Friendship. It’ll come in handy once this Beck stuff dies down and you come back to school and start openly dating MJ again. If you hadn’t firmly acknowledged this thing with Flash to be friendship but you guys had gotten closer, there would’ve been a serious showdown.”

“What, between Flash and MJ? No way.”

“Flash is an entitled prick, no offense to your new friend, and MJ would literally kill a man for you. Flash could be that man, Peter!”

“Pfft, the worst thing she’s ever done to Flash is pour juice on him. She wouldn’t even consider him enough of a threat to raise her voice to him.”

“Dude,” Ned said sternly, “I watched your girlfriend smash a killer drone with a medieval weapon. She’s got it in her. She could _end_ him.”

“She definitely _could_ ,” Peter agreed, smiling proudly, “but she wouldn’t. She has too much restraint.”

“Speaking of restraints…”

“I said restraint, not _restraints_! How are you so open about…” He faltered for a second. “…sex?”

His best friend shrugged.

“It’s part of who I am and there’s nothing wrong with it. I’m well aware that it freaks you out―”

“Yep.”

“―but I know it doesn’t bother you to the extent that you’d, like, reject me as a friend or judge me. You’ve always given me a safe space to discuss my relationship with Betty, so how I feel about sex has become a healthy part of my identity. Thank you for your support.”

Oh fuck, he got really earnest there. It made Peter feel like, in exchange for Ned’s vulnerability, he could be more open to discussing this, since Ned and Betty were both ok with it. He wanted Ned to keep feeling as though he could mention this kind of thing to Peter and trust him. He met his friend’s eye and nodded.

“Of course, man. What do you need to talk about? How can I help?”

Thanks to their friendship, he had another epiphany about behaviour. As Ned expressed his uncertainties and self-consciousness about taking that next big step with his girlfriend and having sex, an out-of-the-way corner of Peter’s mind twisted and studied what his best friend had said about identity. Did he feel the same way about Spider-Man that Ned felt about sex? Spider-Man was part of who Peter was, and he’d never thought there was anything wrong with that (aside from how much the biological changes had scared the crap out of him in the beginning). Maybe it frightened other people―mostly when they thought he killed a man in London―but if they knew the truth, that he was innocent, then they should accept him back into their communities and their conversations as a good guy, a guy who tried to be a hero, and, essentially, a neighbour. They couldn’t give their support unless he asked for it and Peter thought he might be ready to do that.

He actively listened to and reassured Ned, hoping that the world (or even just Queens―even just Queens would be awesome) would listen to and reassure him. Peter’s best friend had asked him to come over to share some knowledge, but as usual, Ned had been the one to dispense the real wisdom.

“Virginity is a construct,” Peter promised. It was something MJ had taught him. “When you and Betty, uh, do it, you won’t have anything to worry about. You guys trust each other. You’ve been, um, trying stuff together already. The mechanics of, uh…” God, he was trying so hard, but he was choking.

“Lovemaking?” his friend suggested.

“Sure,” he agreed weakly. “The mechanics are really straightforward. It’s honestly all about your mental game, and yours is strong, dude. I’m sure you’ll be great at it.”

He cringed as he said it, but Ned beamed like it was exactly what he’d needed to hear.

“Peter. Thank you.”

“Only you know for sure,” Peter added, rallying, “but after everything you said, I think you’re ready for this. Don’t let overthinking it make you afraid.”

“You swear it’s not a big deal?”

“Doesn’t have to be.”

His best friend looked contemplative for a minute, then asked another one of those questions he was so good at―the kind that made Peter feel like someone had just run past and pantsed him.

“You think I’ll be able to bring Betty to orgasm?”

Trying not to let his powerful internal wincing show on his face, Peter nodded.

“You can do anything, man.”

“Because they say it can be difficult to bring a woman to orgasm through penetration alone and―”

“I told you you can do anything,” Peter said, really at the end of his spider rope now. “Just consider that a blanket vote of confidence and don’t make me comment on anything specific.”

Ned smiled in understanding.

“Fair enough.”

“ _Thank you_.”

“You did good,” his friend assured him. “I feel better. It doesn’t seem as intimidating.”

“Well, it _is_ ,” Peter had to allow. Memories of the first time he’d run his hands over MJ’s completely bare skin crinkled brightly in his brain like aluminum foil. “But Betty’s going to be feeling the exact same way, so just… try to remember that you aren’t in it alone. It’s kind of scary for both of you and whatever happens, you guys’ll be alright. You love each other.”

“Yeah, we do,” Ned concurred with an expression of contentment. “You want more pizza? I think it’s getting cold, so I’m gonna microwave a slice.”

“Sure.”

While his friend went to the kitchen, Peter pulled out his MJ-phone, the only phone he was allowed. Since he was with Ned right now and saw most of the other people he cared about at least once a day, she was the only one he was really longing for right now; didn’t matter that they’d been together just that afternoon. She was _MJ_. She would always be the one Peter longed for most. He smiled when the phone vibrated in his hand. Had MJ been thinking about him right when he was thinking about her? That was gooey and lovey in a very Ned-and-Betty way and those moments were the ones he secretly cherished, as much as they made his girlfriend roll her eyes.

The adoring smile fell from his face as he read her text.

_Hel_

“MJ’s in trouble,” he heard himself say to Ned, the words flowing out as automatically as his body had risen from the couch, feet taking him past his best friend and the scent of warming pizza. He paused with the doorknob gripped in his hand, resting his forehead against the door. No. The window would be faster.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” his friend said, chasing him back across the apartment. “Peter, wait, oh my god, Peter, _wait_!”

Peter paused to look back from where he was climbing out the living room window, accepting that Ned’s expression was seriously alarmed without really having the room in his brain to give reassurance.

“What’s going on?”

“Would she still be eating dinner with her mom?” It wasn’t a question for Ned, but Peter asked it aloud, gaze unfocused. “If she is, they’re both in trouble, but if she’s not, she went to _my_ apartment and she’s there alone. Ok,” he said, meeting his best friend’s eyes now. “I think MJ’s in danger and I’m going home to see if she’s there first.”

With that, he scrambled up the side of Ned’s building, hearing his friend call out, “TEXT ME AND LET ME KNOW IF SHE’S OK!” Peter couldn’t answer, he was already on the roof, swinging his arms and psyching himself up. He’d come into the city unprepared. He didn’t want to say this one was on Ms. Romanoff, but she’d told him more than once that his Spidey suits were obvious, so when he’d traveled from the compound with Shuri and Okoye, he’d worn jeans and a t-shirt. No wallet even. More importantly, no distance calibrations from Karen, no durable fabric to act as a second skin if he wiped out, and no webs to catch him if he fucked up. But MJ was in danger. That made things simple, narrowing his mind down to this next move. With a deep breath, Peter gripped his phone in his hand so it wouldn’t go flying out of his pocket and sprinted to the edge of the roof. When he got there, he kicked off as hard as he could. _Shit_ , he thought, in midair between Ned’s apartment building and the next one, _this is a lot higher than jumping the fence at school_.

Miraculously, he landed instead of plummeting to his death or serious injury, taking the fall with a quick tuck. The stupid roof tore his t-shirt a little as he rolled with his shoulder, but he’d managed to spare most of the skin of his arm. Awesome! Only… a bunch more rooftops to go!

Peter was on his feet immediately, once again booking it to the very edge and leaping so hard that he could feel the heat in his legs with the force of his launch. This was quicker than running and less obvious than bounding down the sidewalk where people were way more likely to spot him. In terms of being seen, this was risky enough; it was still bright outside and not all of these buildings had taller ones to throw shadows that Peter could try to use for cover. Didn’t matter. He completed another run-kick-jump-land, ignoring how the impacts were starting to wind him, how the tar and gravel rooftops had ripped the shoulder and back of his t-shirt ragged. His skin felt hot and he knew it was either roof-rash or blood. If MJ turned out to be totally fine, Peter wouldn’t be sorry. When there was someone he loved, someone who was his _family_ , in harm’s way, he’d rather push himself to the limits of his human and enhanced abilities than slack off and have to live with the regret of not doing enough. What he hoped for was that he’d find MJ sitting at his kitchen table and that she’d make a joke about how he looked like shit when he walked in.

 _Please_ , he thought, thudding down hard when his body started to reject his order to brace for the collision, _please let her be safe_.

There were so many things not right with that text message. Not that he could check it now; the gap between the last buildings had been wide and he’d smashed his phone barely getting across, slamming his stomach into the edge of the roof and hauling himself up. He’d let the broken pieces rain down. Felt like some might still be lodged in his palm. Peter wiped his nosed with the back of his hand and smelled blood. ‘Hel’ meant nothing to him. If MJ had been trying to say ‘Hell’ or ‘Hello,’ she would’ve either typed it correctly the first time or sent a speedy follow-up with the correction. She didn’t let her mistakes dangle. The explanation that seemed most likely, and most terrifying, was that she’d been texting ‘Help’ and had either had to press Send prematurely or had sent it by accident while having the phone knocked out of her hand through some violent action that he really didn’t want to consider the specifics of. Peter’s brain was going crazy though. His body was on fire and all he tried to visualize was MJ at his kitchen table. MJ sitting. MJ safe. She could flip him off when he came in, call him a loser and a moron. She could break up with him for real because him barging in like a maniac, looking like Thor-knew-what would turn out to have been an insane, paranoid course of action. Peter would accept being dumped if it meant she was alive and able to do it. He needed her heart to be beating, but he’d be happy for her to break his.

When he reached the roof of his and May’s once-and-future apartment building, he skidded down the side too fast, rubbing his fingertips raw on brick and leaving sweaty, bloody smears on people’s windows, the rails of their balconies, as he grabbed and swung himself down and around until he’d descended to the floor where he used to live.

Fuck. The window was open, the lock inside shattered by a jerk of force. The metallic scrapes in the sill suggested clamps or hooks had been attached here. Even without the signs of an unwelcome entry, he knew his girlfriend wouldn’t have left the window open; she’d been complaining about the heat in their texts and there was no way she’d let the heavy humid night in while her precious air-conditioned air escaped.

Peter dove inside feet-first, landing in a soundless squat and numb to the stretch in his abused thighs, the needled feeling of debris embedded in his palm as he spayed his fingers wide on the carpet. He was in the dark living room. In the bizarre quiet, he straightened up, taking in the couch (shoved out of position), the coffee table (cracked and overturned), and the dents in the wall (despite the unintentional damage he'd done to his aunt’s apartment, he’d never done that). Briskly and silently, he moved through the room, checking behind the couches, scanning the carpet until he spotted the sign he didn’t want to see: blood. And then two men sprawled on their stomachs. Maybe they still had pulses, maybe not; at that point, Peter abandoned stealth and raced through the rest of the apartment―kitchen, bathroom, May’s room. He couldn’t hear his feet pounding on the floor, his hands slapping walls as he took a zigzagging course like a pinball. The only sound was the high buzz in his head.

“ _MJ_!” tore from his throat.

He was about to push open the door of his bedroom when it swayed out of reach of his fingertips seemingly on its own.

“Oh god, oh thank god,” he said, stumbling inside and straight into his girlfriend’s arms.

“I’m ok, I’m ok,” she repeated. He could feel her shaking, but she let her head fall on his shoulder and gripped his upper arm hard with her left hand.

Peter’s eyes darted to the third person in the room―the Black Widow.

“Are there any more of them?” he asked her.

If Ms. Romanoff was relaxed, he already had his answer, but Peter’s body wouldn’t lose its tension, his brain wouldn’t shut off the alert. He looked again at the girl in his arms. She was as strange and familiar as his own reflection. He pressed a hard kiss to the side of her head.

“Just the two in the living room,” the spy reported. “I’ve already called in a team of local agents to sweep the surrounding blocks. I spotted a suspicious vehicle on my way up. Hood was still hot, overly tinted windows, not a mark on it, including fingerprints on the door handles. Checked it out,” she assured him with a tilt of her head before he could ask, “but it was empty.”

“So, but you… and she…?”

His eyes felt as wide as moons, his fear for MJ’s life nowhere near as remote, though it was beginning to recede with the help of Ms. Romanoff’s intelligence.

“Those guys out there aren’t dead, only unconscious.”

Peter had a pretty good feeling she was telling him that mainly so that MJ could overhear it, but it might also be the truth. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, holding her even tighter. The way his girlfriend was staying quiet, leaning against him, made him feel profoundly cold.

“Thank you for not… in front of her,” Peter said.

Though the vignette they made was probably grim as hell, the spy smirked.

“Oh, most of that was Jones. I just incapacitated them.”

“What?”

“Check out what she’s holding.”

Peter cupped MJ’s face and kissed it, over and over until she met his eyes and didn’t release his stare―her gaze was steady, even if her trembling body was not. Only then did he ease himself away from her. _Shit_ , his ribs had felt better before he crashed into the side of that one building.

“Hey,” he said gently, still supporting her cheek. He’d never felt anything so soft and wonderful, even if he was streaking his own drying blood across her skin with every stroke of his thumb.

“I’m ok,” she told him again.

“I know. I know you are.”

Maintaining eye contact for as long as possible, Peter finally looked down. MJ had the shaft of her mace in a death grip in her right hand. Well, at least she’d retracted the spikes, otherwise he’d probably have had one jabbing into his leg and wouldn’t have noticed over the intensity he felt seeing her alive.

“I guess it’s a good thing we got in some practice today,” he said carefully, nodding down at her weapon.

A smile flickered before it lit up her face. With it, she took a longer breath and her quivering began to die down. MJ lifted her head from Peter’s shoulder and looked at Ms. Romanoff, who’d just finished speaking discretely into a comm.

“Thanks again for my present,” she said, raising the mace and giving it a little twirl with her wrist.

“We’ve got each other’s backs, don’t we?” the Black Widow asked with a smile. MJ nodded in response. To Peter, she said, “Why don’t I tidy up a little while you guys stay put?”

Recognizing that as code for her clearing the down-for-the-count attackers out of his apartment, Peter gave her a nod of his own. She left his bedroom swiftly and managed to shut the door behind her with so much grace and subtly that he couldn’t be certain she’d done it on purpose to give them privacy, though that was his guess.

“You can put it down,” he said softly and MJ let the mace clatter to the floor. “Good girl.”

“Don’t patronize me, Parker.”

That got a laugh out of him, but he immediately winced. She was coming back into her own head enough by then to notice. She studied him intently and he watched her eyebrows create a deeper and deeper crease between them as she looked him over top to bottom, then circled him.

“Peter…!”

It was a confused, distraught gasp of sound that had him promising her that he was ok too.

“You don’t fucking look ok! You look like a giant rubbed your body against a massive cheese grater! What the _fuck_!”

He shrugged.

“I’ll heal.”

“What can I do?” MJ demanded. She amazed him. She went from being the scarily quiet target of an attack to trying to regain control of the situation.

“Petition for the city to replace all the rooftops with trampolines?”

“God. _Peter_.”

She yanked him into her arms and when she started to let up, remembering his wounds, he wouldn’t let her. But then _he_ started to let up, remembering what a mess he was.

“I’m gonna get you covered in blood,” Peter told her. She shook her head against him, hanging on.

“Doesn’t matter.”

“I know you said you’re ok, but are you sure you’re not hurt anywhere?”

From the puzzled look on her face, he doubted that she’d had time take stock of herself since the fight ended. Black Widow would’ve done a cursory check and ignored anything that didn’t require urgent medical attention.

“Baby, let me check with Romanoff to see if the coast is clear and we can get cleaned up in the bathroom.”

MJ nodded.

“And then maybe you can put on a shirt that doesn’t look like a set of blinds,” she suggested.

“Thank god you didn’t hurt your sarcasm,” Peter joked, feeling so much more relief than he let her see as he kissed the side of her head again and went towards the door.

He’d intended to check on the situation alone, not wanting to upset MJ, but she clung to his hand when he moved. He squeezed back, deciding this was better. A quick peek revealed the spy just leaving―she gave them both a nod and vowed to make contact within the hour and provide an update―and the bodies of the attackers already removed.

Peter and MJ padded to the bathroom and, with frequent pained grunts and the constant clench of his jaw, he allowed her to undress him on the cool tiles. He wanted to look her over first, especially after the bright light showed him the beginnings of a bruise darkening her cheekbone, but she seemed steadier with the task of methodically stripping him. She found a washcloth in the linen closet (maybe as used to this apartment now as he was) and delicately wiped blood away from his cuts, skirting more serious gashes. When she ran out of clean spots on the cloth, she rang it out in the sink and ran cold water over it again. While MJ did his back, Peter worked the chips of ruined cellphone out of his hand. Luckily, none of the pieces were smaller than what he could pinch between his fingers and extract with a quick tug. Finally, she lined up band-aids, antibacterial cream, and hydrogen peroxide on the bathroom counter and began to sterilize and hide a ridiculous amount of his torso.

“Sweetheart,” Peter told her softly, stilling her hands. “I’m ok now.”

“But I―”

“It’s your turn.”

Her eyes said she was about to put up a fuss the likes of which he’d better believe he’d never seen, but her shoulders dropped.

“I’ll give in this one time,” MJ said.

“You’re not giving in,” Peter corrected her, crossing the bathroom stark-naked to turn on the hot water faucet in the bathtub. “You’re just doing your post-mission recovery.”

“Mission?”

He turned around to watch his girlfriend’s gaze slide from his ass to his face and rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, M, _mission_. You took out two guys _and_ most of the stuff in my living room. You’re an Avenger now, moron.”

“Not sure you’re allowed to do that,” she said with a smirk as he returned to her, leaving the water running, and began to undress her.

There was more bruising on MJ’s hip, like maybe she’d been knocked to the floor or into something, and scrapes on her knees that said she’d gone down hard at some point and her shorts hadn’t done anything to protect her. All of it squeezed mercilessly at his heart and his throat, so he kept his gaze lowered, hiding his expression. But it was all nothing, nothing, nothing compared to what could’ve happened. The questions were piling up in his head now, each a grain of sand, as though someone were emptying an hourglass into his ear. Had they known MJ would be here? Had they followed her to the apartment? Was it a coincidence? Did they know her name, her address? He should call her mom in a minute. Oh shit, he’d have to borrow her phone to do that. First, he’d take care of her.

Peter held MJ’s hand, helped her step into the tub, and gave her a cocky grin.

“Yeah, well, I’m Spider-Man.”


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lack of endnotes with the last chapter was not to warn you about the non-graphic violence at the start of this one. We're gonna move pretty quickly into fluff, smut, and a whole lotta appreciation for the birthday present MJ bought Peter back in chapter 13.

XXVI

MJ didn’t want to scare her mom. Instead of allowing Peter to call her while she was in the bath, she dictated a message to him―head resting back against the tiled wall, bruised cheek feeling hot and swollen―and had him text June on her behalf. The text let her mom know that the Black Widow would be waiting to accompany her back to their apartment after her shift. MJ and Peter had no way to contact Romanoff, but the spy had said she’d be in touch shortly, so MJ would ask her then to go to the hospital and make sure her mom got home safely, just in case this was an attack on her family specifically.

She wasn’t sure yet that that was the case. Nobody knew her, not really, and it had been two and a half months now since J. Jonah Jameson had revealed Peter’s identity. Also, she’d been attacked in the Parkers’ apartment, not her own. All of that was kind of a blur of instinct and adrenaline and though Peter insisted that she didn’t have to talk about it right now, MJ felt like she couldn’t really relax until she’d divulged her experience. So she told him how she’d gone over to his place and, even without a Peter-Tingle, had gotten a _feeling_. Could’ve been that the air was less stuffy than she’d been expecting (thanks, she’d since learned, to the attackers entering through a window and leaving it open), or that, as she’d ventured cautiously through the dark kitchen, she’d heard a faint sound other than her own footsteps. Those moments seemed as immeasurably long now as an afternoon lying in the sun at the beach; everything right after had happened so quickly in comparison. Peter sat on the edge of the bathtub and trailed his fingers in the water next to her raised knee, but MJ could see how hard he was clenching his other hand into a furious, guilty fist.

A something that had swiftly materialized into a _someone_ had pushed her hard into the kitchen counter and she’d fallen after the impact, having not been anticipating the hit. She’d scurried beneath the Parkers’ kitchen table, dumping the contents of her backpack purse and latching on to the handle of the mace. She’d spared a few seconds to begin texting Peter for help. When the someone had gripped her around the ankle to drag her into the open, MJ’d hit send on her unfinished text and dropped her phone to wrap both hands around her weapon. (She noticed the understanding dawn on her boyfriend’s face―this was why he’d followed her directions to retrieve her phone from under the kitchen table.) She’d cracked her attacker across the knuckles with the light-but-unforgivingly-solid length of the mace shaft. Their grip had loosened without releasing her so she’d swung her next hit upward between the person’s thighs, earning a deep grunt and a freed leg.

MJ had made for the apartment’s front door. Neither a hero nor an idiot, she’d had no interest in standing her ground and extending this fight. But there’d been a second attacker then, blocking her path. (Above her, her boyfriend drew in an anxious breath through his nose.) She’d fled to the living room instead, hand working the controls of the mace to extend the spiked head―the way she’d practiced all afternoon. In spite of being untrained, lightweight, and outnumbered, she’d sure as hell given the two men (as she’d confirm with the pained groans that followed) a surprise when she’d fought them off with a Wakandan mace. Not that they’d paused to admire the craftsmanship while she was striking them in their stomachs, then their shins when she’d had to dive to the ground to avoid being part of the wreckage of the Parkers’ coffee table, then their arms as she’d scrambled backwards behind the couch as they’d hauled it aside to reach for her. She’d gained her feet and retracted the spikes to give one of the men a blow to the ear when Romanoff had suddenly been there, bringing the other attacker to the ground before subduing to unconsciousness the man MJ’d assumed she’d just concussed.

Of course, after that, she’d gone to pieces a little bit and had allowed Romanoff to lead her giddy ass to Peter’s room, away from the blood and destruction. She didn’t bother recapping that part; Peter had seen enough to get the picture.

“I’ve never been so scared for you and scared _of_ you at the same time,” he said when she finished.

“Now you know how it feels to date _you_ ,” MJ informed him, and he leaned over to kiss her on the forehead, almost setting her off with sobs of relief that they were both here and alive.

They spent a couple of minutes in silence after that, until she couldn’t stand the expression on Peter’s face that said he was internally beating himself up for not being there to protect her. It was a stupid fucking thought―she’d made it through alright and he’d come as fast as he could―so she didn’t address it. The best way to convince him to move on was to prove she wasn’t a victim. He stood immediately to assist her when she opened the drain and started to rise from the bathtub.

“Do you need something? I can get you something. What do you need?”

Peter practically swaddled her in a thick towel and once she’d liberated her arms, she wrapped it around herself and tucked in the end so it would stay up.

“I’m going to ice my face. My mom’s going to freak out enough as it is. Maybe you should get dressed,” MJ suggested, eyeing her fully-nude boyfriend.

She hadn’t been thinking about him like _that_ before, during her frantic doctoring of his wounds and the tender way he’d run her a bath and stroked his fingers through her hair while her tense muscles went slack, but now, even with the already-yellowing bruises that striped his torso and the bright-pink new skin of his healing palms, she felt an intense yearning for him. As tempting as _yay, we’re alive!_ sex was, MJ had enough self-awareness to know that it would probably deplete the last of her energy. So she patted his chest, swallowed, and walked past him out of the bathroom. Her black dahlia necklace stuck to her damp skin above the line of the towel.

“Oh hey,” MJ remembered. “You can wear the underwear I got you for your birthday!”

That thought cheered her up, though her smile still contracted to a wince when she folded a bunch of ice cubes from the Parkers’ freezer into a tea towel and held it to her cheek. _Fuck_ , that was cold. She listened to Peter going to his bedroom to see what clothes he’d left behind when he and May had moved out in June and made her way back to the bathroom. Setting her makeshift icepack on the counter for a minute, she redressed. Unlike Peter’s shredded t-shirt, her clothes were in pretty good shape―if she chose to ignore the faint blood spatter across the front of her shorts. The elastic of her underwear dug into the tender part of her battered hip, but she buttoned her shorts over them and brought the ice back to her face.

She met Peter in the kitchen.

“Black briefs?” he questioned, raising his eyebrows at her. Slowly, MJ grinned.

“Don’t remind me. The mental image alone is enough to make me want to do bad things to your broken body.”

“Nothing’s broken,” Peter protested.

“I know, but I’m trying to trick myself into believing you’re more injured than you are so... so that...”

He’d stepped close to her, making it hard to keep track of her train of thought.

“Then you can at least pretend nothing important’s broken,” he suggested quietly. He shifted both his mouth and his hips towards her.

MJ snorted a laugh and let Peter kiss her. When he skimmed his hands gently down her back to grip her ass, she pressed her mouth against his. A couple of nudges from each of them turned it into a desperate, demanding kiss. Then, her phone rang in her pocket and they broken apart. _For the best_ , she tried to convince herself, answering the call from the unknown number.

“Streets are clear,” Romanoff said before MJ’d had a chance to greet her. “You two can leave the apartment. I’ll get it fixed up.”

“You want me to tell you where the cleaning stuff is?”

“I was thinking I’d just throw out the most severely damaged stuff. Unless your boyfriend wants to hang on to half a table and a rug soaked in blood.”

She was being funny, but MJ felt the colour drain from her face and quickly handed the phone off to Peter.

“It’s ok to leave?” he asked the spy, keeping an arm around her waist as he spoke. “Ok, I’ll take her home. No, I’ll stay with her, don’t send anyone else.”

The protective note in his voice made the hair on the back of her neck stand up.

“Ok,” Peter said again, “putting you on speaker.”

MJ frowned at him in confusion as he held the phone up between them.

“Can you bring my mom home after her shift?” she blurted.

“Already at the hospital waiting for her,” Romanoff confirmed. “I hadn’t planned on interrupting, but she came to me. Said maternal instinct had tipped her off.”

MJ let out a worried gasp.

“You told her I’m ok, right?”

“Yep, I think she’s going to be distracted for the rest of her shift, but I persuaded her not to rush out or do anything to attract unnecessary attention. She will be leaving early though. I couldn’t fight her on that. Told her she’d see you at home and that you were in good hands until then.”

She lifted her eyes to Peter’s and smiled at him.

“I owe you so many favours,” MJ realized, adding escorting her mom home to the multitude of things the spy had done for her.

“Protecting you and your family is not a favour any more than it’s a favour to have Bruce’s back in a fight, or to stop that genius you’re dating from gallivanting around in his Spider-Man suit when he’s supposed to be in hiding.”

Peter let out an affronted noise.

“Before you leave the apartment,” Romanoff continued, “there’s one thing I need to know.”

“What?” he asked.

“Not from you, from Jones.” MJ heard her take a heavy breath before lowering her voice. “Did anyone besides Peter know you would be at his apartment tonight?”

“Well,” MJ said, thinking hard, “he said he told Ned he was meeting me here, but Ned didn’t even have time to tell anyone before Peter left his place, not that he would.”

“Alright, we rule him out and widen the net. Did anyone know you were going to Peter’s apartment at _any_ time?”

“No...” she started to say, but she remembered something. “Cindy knew.”

“Are we concerned about Cindy?” Romanoff questioned. Though they’d just met and gotten along that afternoon, MJ understood that the spy was prioritizing her safety over preconceptions about her friendships.

“No,” she repeated. She sounded uncertain though, but it had nothing to do with Cindy. There was something else that she couldn’t quite recall... Suddenly, MJ had it. “Brad. Brad knew.”

“That’s Brad Davis,” Peter clarified into the phone, eyes firmly and questioningly on her face. “He’s in our grade at Midtown, interning at the _Daily Bugle_.”

“Cindy told him by accident,” MJ said, eyes sightlessly scanning the Parkers’ kitchen as she thought back to the day she, Cindy, and Brad had gone for burgers. “A _Bugle_ photographer took pictures of me going into the apartment building and Brad said they were keeping an eye out for, I don’t know, Spider-Man co-conspirators or something. Cindy corrected him and said I was just apartment-sitting. He’s the only person I can think of who knew.”

“But those guys were here because of me, weren’t they?” her boyfriend asked in a pleading tone. “They came looking for me?”

“You’ve been gone from the apartment for months,” Romanoff reminded him, “and it was too slick to be a random burglary. We can’t rule out other motives yet, but I’d say it isn’t impossible that Jones was the target and that they were either waiting for her to come by sometime or followed her to the building.”

“If this was _Brad_ ―” Peter grit out.

“If this was Brad,” the spy interrupted, “I’ll trace it back to him.”

Although it felt weird as hell to defend that asshole, MJ had to speak up.

“I don’t think he’d do this,” she said, ignoring her boyfriend’s doubtful expression. “Brad’s kind of... into me. Even if he somehow had the authority to hire two goons to come attack me―which, there’s no way―he wouldn’t.”

“Guys get jealous,” Romanoff countered. “There’s the old ‘if I can’t have her, no one can.’”

“Brad’s a persistent asshole, but he’s not psychotic.”

Peter sighed without arguing, though the spy had paused, presumably to allow him room to throw out any additional information.

“I could be wrong,” MJ allowed.

“We’ll get to the bottom of it,” the spy promised. “You two focus on staying safe. You’ve both been through a lot tonight.”

“We will,” Peter said on behalf of both of them. The tension in his jaw didn’t escape MJ’s observation.

Neither of them had access to a car and with her boyfriend visibly injured and her holding fast-melting ice to her face in a sopping tea towel (the night was still very warm), they agreed that they’d set off warning bells in the head of a taxi or ride-share driver. Her apartment wasn’t far; they decided to walk.

By the time they arrived, the shoulder of MJ’s t-shirt was soaked from the water running down her face and neck and Peter had started griping about his birthday present. It was kind of almost normal? She was glad the strange sensation of a different style of underwear was bothering him more than the aches and pains of throwing himself across rooftops.

“They fit, don’t they?” she asked, shooting her boyfriend a look when he wiggled his hips oddly as she unlocked her apartment door.

“Yeah. I’m just not used to having something, you know, cradling my web-shooter.”

She laughed and it made her face ache. Pushing the door wide, she raised what was now just a cold, wet cloth to her face. She’d have to swap it for new ice inside. Oh, or maybe a freezie. Before she could head towards the kitchen, or even step into the apartment, Peter was tucking her behind him and entering first. Any other night, that would’ve really pissed her off. Not tonight.

MJ stayed close behind him, mace lowered at her side, as he flipped on lights and made 100% sure the apartment was clear of would-be attackers and signs of forced entry. Finally, he sighed with relief and she took her weapon to the bathroom, rinsing its head in the sink. The traces of blood where the spikes had penetrated through her attackers’ padded clothing made her a little dizzy as they washed down the sink, but she got through it. Done, she took the mace to her bedroom, set it on her dresser, and gave it a fond pat of thanks. Then, she went out to the living room to find her boyfriend sitting on the couch, nursing a glass of water.

“You wanna text Ned?” she offered, holding out her phone.

They traded―Peter took the phone while she had a sip of his water. As soon as he’d sent the text to let his best friend know they were both fine, Ned started sending a whole string of messages in response. MJ watched her boyfriend text him once more, saying they were recuperating and would talk to him soon. He passed the phone back and she tossed it onto the table, set the remainder of his water beside it, and laid her head on his chest as he settled deep into the cushions. Peter couldn’t have breathed in and out more than a dozen times before she was totally asleep, his arm wrapped around her front to cup her opposite shoulder.

He shook her gently awake to let her know he could hear her mom in the hall outside. In their final seconds of silence, she held his face and kissed him.

Then her mom was in the room, panicking and―alarmingly― _crying_. It was something she rarely did.

“You should see the other guys,” MJ bragged lamely, which did make June hiccup a laugh through her tears.

Once she’d taken a look at her and MJ had, reluctantly, revealed the bruise on her hip, June allowed her daughter to step aside and hauled Peter into a hug.

“I really didn’t do anything,” he said, laying a hand on her back as MJ watched with a wry smile.

“Peter, you’ve looked better,” June told him bluntly as she drew back. “I know that whatever happened to you happened because you were protecting Michelle. _Even if_ ,” she went on with a warning finger when Peter attempted to cut in, “you think what you did didn’t count or wasn’t enough. Don’t beat yourself up. You got her home safe.”

He nodded in acceptance.

“You ok with the couch?” June asked.

“What?”

MJ was thrown as well― _delighted_ , but thrown.

“He can stay?” she asked her mom.

“Michelle, we are not kicking this boy out of our home tonight. Peter, honey, I’m going to get changed and then will you let me take a look at those hands?”

He nodded again, but MJ wasn’t as easily dodged, leaving her boyfriend and following her mom to her bedroom.

“Don’t tell me you want me to send him back to his apartment,” June said.

“No. I just wasn’t expecting...”

“Look,” her mom said, sitting on the end of her bed as she peeled off her perpetually foul-smelling socks, “it hurts me to see him injured. Most of the time I’ve known him, it’s been as your sweet, nerdy boyfriend.”

MJ smiled at the knowledge that Peter could hear what they were saying from the living room. Nerd.

“Thinking of Peter like that,” June continued, “it’s difficult to give him part of the responsibility of taking care of you. Don’t roll your eyes at me. It’s not old-fashioned to accept his help in keeping you safe. But that sweet, nerdy boy is also an Avenger. As an Avenger, he’s going to do his job and as your boyfriend, he’s going to feel the need to protect you in particular.”

“You should’ve been a doctor of psychology instead,” she said sarcastically.

“You be nice to your mother, Grapefruit Face.”

MJ cupped her swollen cheek defensively.

“It’s not _that_ bad.”

“You look like I did when I took a softball to the face in college.”

“Amazing how you pursed medicine instead of a career as a professional athlete.”

Her mom gave her a hard look.

“ _Anyway_ , as your boyfriend, I do _not_ want him sleeping under our roof, but as your personal bodyguard, I feel better knowing he’s nearby.”

“Can he sleep in my room then?”

June laughed hard and shooed her daughter out, still laughing as she shut the door on her to finish getting changed. Well, it had been worth a try.

“I’m staying overnight?” Peter asked, twisting to look at MJ when she walked into the room.

“Is that ok?”

“Actually,” he said as she sat next to him and put her hand in his upturned one, “I was thinking about staying longer.”

“How much longer?”

He turned to her, first staring down at their hands, then into her eyes.

“I think I should move back to Queens.”

“What? Really?”

“No offense to your mom, but I want to be here to protect you. You need me. Don’t argue.”

“I wasn’t going to,” she said with a smile. “I needed you this whole time. I never wanted you to go. But you _had_ to. How can you be here and stay out of the public eye?”

Peter took a deep breath.

“Pepper’s putting out a press release soon. I was going to tell you before... all of _that_ happened. It’s all the data we accumulated to prove that I didn’t kill Beck. Spider-Man’s in the clear.”

“What about Peter Parker?” MJ wanted to know, squeezing her boyfriend’s hand. “What happens to him?”

“Peter Parker _is_ Spider-Man,” he answered.

Her eyebrows rose in understanding.

“You’re going to tell everyone. Are you sure?”

“I think so. No, yeah, I _know_ so. This feels right. I’m glad Pepper held off for a few more days though because I wonder if the attack tonight is connected to Jameson outing me. We still don’t know who slipped him Beck’s footage. It’d be nice to be able to bring that to light too when we clear my name. Both of my names.”

Peter shook his head, then smiled. MJ could feel herself relaxing into the warm look in his eyes as much as she was relaxing into the couch.

“I’ll get you some sheets,” she volunteered.

They made up the bed where, June confirmed when she came out to get a mug of tea, he was welcome to stay until his situation was figured out and he could move home permanently, once again occupying his old apartment with May. June looked over his hands, applying more disinfectant, and gave him and MJ mild painkillers to soothe their aches for the evening. Then, she said goodnight. The two of them looked at each other in the calm stillness of the living room and Peter speculated that it wouldn’t be long until he was home again. All of a sudden, school was starting next week and he wanted to be able to go back to class with his friends, like normal. Maybe not exactly normal, since he’d be a fairly big celebrity for a while, even around his peers, but normal-esque, normal-ish, as normal as they could get for right now.

“Flash calling you ‘Penis’ again every day will probably balance out all the freshmen asking for your autograph,” MJ joked as they sat on his crisp, cool sheets.

“Actually, I don’t think he will,” Peter said thoughtfully. “I had this weird conversation with him where he got really supportive and just... _nice_. Didn’t hit on me once.”

“No shit?”

She tried to sound surprised, but a smile spread across her face. She’d been regretting how she’d blown up at Flash thanks to envy, brought on by stress, brought on by a long-distance relationship, brought on by a false accusation of murder. These were the sorts of things that happened in her life. And that life would be easier without having constant animosity with Flash Thompson to worry about when they returned to Midtown. MJ wasn’t quite ready to be _friends_ with him the way Peter was, but when she thought about him as the guy who’d praised Spider-Man in Venice and been left behind while his parents went on a cruise and, by the sound of it, had actually been receptive of her criticism of how he’d treated Peter... Yeah, she thought they had a chance of being friends in the future.

“It’s scary,” he said.

“What is?”

“The feeling that everything’s going to be ok. Is that nuts?”

MJ nodded and pulled him against her, careful of the sore spots on both of their healing bodies. Peter’s head landed on her shoulder; she pressed her cheek to his hair. Faintly, she heard the laugh track of whatever her mom was watching on her laptop in her room. June never wore the headphones MJ had gotten her last Christmas and it usually bothered her. Tonight, she was comforted by the reassurance of her mother nearby and her boyfriend’s warm solidity nestled against her. For a long time, she watched the wall as light slanted up and in from buildings across the street and traffic passing below. She watched until her eyelids grew so heavy that even rubbing at them wouldn’t relieve the weight. She watched until the light dimmed and Peter’s breathing slipped into the steadiness of rest after exhaustion. She watched until she wasn’t watching anymore, eyes closed before she could even realize.

“Sweetheart. _MJ_. You’re gonna get a crick in your neck.”

She groaned, monumentally grouchy that Peter was trying to wake her prematurely for the second time tonight. It couldn’t have been that long since she’d fallen asleep. She turned her head away from him and groaned again, feeling the stiffness already creeping up her neck. Moron was right. That just made her grumpier.

“I know you can hear me,” he laughed softly.

MJ turned her head again and opened her eyes just enough that he’d be able to tell she was glaring at him.

“Still dark,” she observed and complained, then snapped her eyes shut again.

She felt Peter’s breath on her face right before he bumped his nose into hers. Alright, if he was going to persist in keeping her awake, she’d stay awake on her own terms. MJ quickly angled her head and pressed her mouth to his, lips lazy and loose from sleep. When Peter pushed back insistently, gripping her hair low against the back of her head, she gasped in a quick breath, feeling his kiss fall all the way through her until it found purchase in a low, needy place and tugged. She rolled on top of him. Leaving it to his hands to arrange her knees on either side of his hips, MJ just let herself drop into Peter’s lap, twining her arms around the back of his neck. His eager hands bunched the loose material at her hips as her baggy shorts rode up, then hooked through her belt loops and held her hips against his. It put far less pressure on the bruise than just taking her by the hips would’ve. She could feel him swelling in the front of his sweats. Fuck. Trying to grind against his length, she found she couldn’t; Peter wasn’t giving her enough leeway. It dawned on her like a blinding red sun that he wasn’t using his regular strength, the kind that allowed for push and pull, give and take, when things became heated between them. A flush shot through her that this was something more, that he was crossing over into his enhanced strength.

“Are you being Spider-Man with me?” MJ wetly broke the kiss to enquire.

“Depends if you can handle it,” he breathed back, nipping her lip.

“How will you know?”

“You ever take a man down with a mace?”

Peter grinned against her lips and she felt his dick throb impatiently against her groin.

“Mhmm,” MJ murmured, moving to kiss along his throat. “You wanna know what the trick is?”

She slid her hands down his chest.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Peter muttered, rocking his hips into hers. “Tell me.”

Trailing her mouth upward, she stopped next to his ear.

“You’ve gotta know how to grip the shaft.”

She tilted her hips back from his and slipped her hand in between, flexing her fingers around the obvious bulge. Peter moaned, yanking her hips to his so swiftly that she barely got her hand out of the way in time.

“We can’t do this out here,” MJ reminded him while she could still remember how to speak.

“What? Why... Oh, right.”

“I’m going to go to bed.” She kissed him and climbed backwards out of his lap. “Don’t want a crick in my neck.”

She’d barely left the living room when she heard Peter’s feet brushing against the carpet as he followed her. MJ bit her lip, grinning to herself without looking back. The apartment was silent.

Once he’d snuck into her room behind her, MJ switched on her bedside lamp and he softly shut the door. The painkiller had quashed the prickling hurt in her face and the warm light made the yellow bruising across Peter’s ribs blend into his skin when he removed his t-shirt. She stopped him before he could go any further on his own. They kissed in light teases, MJ smiling against him when he tried to catch her lip between his, and undressed each other for the second time that night. Where last time it had been fearful and perfunctory―proceeding in order to know how to care for each other amidst worries of what wounds might be revealed―this time their pace was dictated by reverence, and much slower.

MJ ran her palms up Peter’s back and down his arms like she’d never felt his skin before. Her heart raced; touching him was like breaking some rule. Of course, they’d managed pretty damn well since he’d been ‘exiled,’ including that very surprising encounter at the stadium that afternoon (or was it yesterday afternoon? It hadn’t occurred to her to check the time after Peter woke her), but now he said he was coming back, really coming back. Though they still didn’t have all the time in the world, or all the privacy in the world, tonight was something they didn’t have to snatch and rush through. She kissed his mouth, then bent her head to kiss his chest, taking her time. Peter pulled at her belt loops again before letting them go and hiking the hem of her t-shirt up to slip his hands beneath her shorts at her hips. Being careful around her bruise, he caressed her skin, then worked his fingers under the band of her underwear and rubbed his fingertips there while he panted above her, MJ’s teeth catching his nipple.

Turning, she meant to guide him onto the bed, but he pressed himself up against her from behind instead. His hands repositioned to unbutton and unzip her shorts. The process was only slightly hindered by MJ grinding her ass into Peter’s rigid erection. When her shorts fell to the ground, his fingers stole into the front of her underwear, curving with her body to cup her until his middle finger rested along her wetness, dragging lightly back and forth. MJ let her head fall back onto Peter’s shoulder and his words hummed against her neck as he kissed her there.

“There’s nobody as beautiful as you,” he said.

And, “M, I touch you like this in my dreams.”

“I love you... I wanna make love to you.” He said that too.

She shed her t-shirt, hair flopping against her back until he held it aside to kiss across her shoulders and down the top of her spine, fingers still taunting her as they swept lightly over her clit without focusing there. Because Peter knew―because sometimes, when they did this, he seemed to know everything―he made a few, sudden, quick passes at her clit and MJ had to brace her fists on the mattress for balance. He removed his hand from her underwear and she chased it with a disappointed sigh. She was glad she hadn’t intervened though, because now he was drawing her underwear down her legs and helping her step out of them and her shorts. He pressed the soft material of his sweatpants, plus the firm length within, against her bare ass like he couldn’t stop himself. As she closed her eyes in the pleasure of anticipation, he unhooked her bra and she let it drop. His hands smoothed down the full span of her back, around to knead her breasts and set the dahlia swaying from her neck, then one hand darted down between her legs and cupped her with that same unambiguous unyieldingness he’d shown on the couch when he held her hips against his. Peter wanted this, MJ knew, so badly.

When he stepped away, she watched him get a condom from her drawer, then shove his pants to the ground.

“Hold on a minute,” she said with a smirk and Peter froze, huffing with maybe self-consciousness or impatience or exasperation, as her gaze lingered on his birthday present. “They look good. How’s the fit now?”

It was a really fucking bad joke with his cock so evidently straining the front of the briefs, and therefore probably fair when he responded the way he did.

“You tell me,” he suggested. He stripped them off, rolled the condom on, and was still grinning to himself at his even worse innuendo as he came back to MJ, holding her at the waist rather than her hips.

“This reminds me of the mirror,” she said as he lined himself up, the head of his dick almost making her jump as it nudged her slick entrance.

“You wanna do this over there instead?”

“I actually don’t really want to wait another second.”

MJ said it quietly, abruptly, and shot a quick glance back at him. He leaned over her and kissed her shoulder, skimming his mouth back and forth as he began to push inside from below.

“Me neither.”

She bent her knees a little to accommodate their slight height difference―and to sink down on him, serious about not wanting to wait. Peter filled her steadily in return, clutching her waist as his breathing hitched.

“Does it feel good for you like this?” he checked.

“Move and let’s find out.”

Untucking her fists, MJ planted her hands flat on the mattress. He began a steady rocking and she swayed her hips with his. It was good, so good, this gentle buildup, that made everything inside her frothy, like they were fashioning the base layer of whatever this would be out of frosting. His hands, probably a little itchy and tight as his body wove shut the tiny abrasions on his palms, shifted and grasped at her waist.

“You want it harder?” she panted.

“Y-you?” he asked back. She could hear the restraint in his voice.

MJ tensed her arms and slammed her hips back against Peter’s as he plunged ahead. He swore forcefully and reached up to grope her breasts, weathered palms a blissful hell on her nipples. As he thrust forward, she raised one leg to put her knee on the bed.

“Fuck. _Yes_ ,” Peter breathed, dropping a hand to grip the front of her thigh for leverage as he bucked deeper into her clenching channel, making MJ quietly cry out and seize the bed sheet in both hands.

Body taut and legs open wide for him, she would’ve been totally, thoroughly satisfied to remain in that position while he drilled into her, stimulating her g-spot. But on his next thrust, Peter surged forward, then kept leaning his weight into her instead of withdrawing. MJ scrambled onto the bed, tossing the sheet back, and he slipped out of her. Though they both made miserable sounds at the loss of contact, she quickly turned back to him, finding him kneeling on the bed. Her insides clenched―all heat and arousal and no Peter. She kissed him deeply, their tongues stroking each other and his semi-sticky cock bobbing against her stomach.

“How would it be best for you?” he asked, breaking the kiss. His hands smoothed needily up and down her arms.

“My knees feel ok,” she said as she belatedly realized it hadn’t hurt to prop one on the bed. Though maybe the distraction of him driving into her from behind had helped. “I think I’m ok with whatever, as long as you don’t grab my hip. That’s the sorest. What about you?”

MJ held him by the hips, then moved her hands to his dick, one encircling him at the base while the other stroked up to the head over the condom. Peter shuddered and kissed her _hard_ before responding. It made her heart feel like it was sailing way out over a canyon on a tire swing.

“It, it hurts a little to curve forward, so maybe if you were on top...?”

“Ok.”

Except, apparently, he immediately changed his mind. The second she agreed, Peter tugged her thighs forward, knocking her onto her back. Breathing rapidly because, whatever this was, it could only be good, she watched him shuffle in front of her on his knees and ease hers apart. MJ reached up and ran a hand through his hair as he stared at the wetness between her legs. She tightened her hand in the strands, just a little, because they had grown longer and curled in the summer heat and felt luscious between her fingers.

“I thought you just said you wanted me on top,” she reminded him, gaze diving to his erect cock. She knew what he wanted most and that he was making himself wait. Masochist.

“M,” he groaned, “I want you every way.”

He lowered himself between her spread thighs―she tried to give him as much space as possible as the idiot got as comfortable as he could with a spray of autumn-hued bruises across his front―and basically sealed his fucking mouth to her. MJ whimpered behind her clamped-shut lips. Her hand moved with his head, fingers still tangled in his hair, as he licked at her aggressively, tilting his head this way and that to trace every bit of her with his tongue, blending her arousal and his saliva. He pinched her clit carefully between his teeth and gave short little tugs that had her hips writhing and jumping. Because he was aware enough not to grab them on instinct, he wrapped his arms around her thighs instead, holding them tighter and tighter until there was no way she’d be able to get her legs free without him releasing them. The solid muscles of his arms pushed back against her tensing thighs as he devoured her.

“ _God, god, god_ ,” MJ muttered. “ _Spider-Man_.”

Peter outlined her entrance, then plugged it with his tongue. She almost screamed at the sensation of it prodding and flexing and swiping at her g-spot.

“Now,” she hissed insistently.

Instantly, he pulled his mouth off her, backhanding the wetness.

“Now?”

“ _Now_ ,” MJ repeated, and they hastily traded places.

He looked up at her straddling his hips and blew out a long breath.

“You’re my hero,” she blurted as she gripped his cock and took it inside her again. “Did you know that?”

Pink flared up his face in the soft light, but although he opened his mouth to respond, he ended up meeting her declaration with a breathless grunt. MJ rode him fast and as rough as it seemed like they could stand in the condition they were in. She wouldn’t let him guide her into something slower, not with his need or hers, especially after he’d just had her so close to climax, fooling around with his tongue. When he was obviously getting close―hips thumping her mattress as he bucked up into her―she entwined a hand with his and fingered her clit with the other. Peter’s eyelids fluttered as his eyes rolled back from watching her touch herself, then flew open, coming so hard inside her that his jaw clicked with a silent moan. Her orgasm struck while he was still thrusting shallowly into her, working through his bliss. MJ rocked back and forth on him as he pawed lethargically at her breasts and felt like she could’ve maybe kept up that pace forever. That was until she felt the flicker of her hips and thighs starting to cramp and had to sway to a stop. She tumbled off him and was jostled like doll when he briefly got out of bed to tie off and chuck the condom.

They both knew he couldn’t stay in her room for the rest of the night, but she shifted over further so they could at least lie comfortably until they found the strength and motivation to get cleaned up and redressed.

“I love you,” MJ told him as he kissed her forehead, breathing hard from his nose into her hair.

“You’re incredible,” he said. “You did amazing today. You’re just... the most unbelievable person I’ve ever met. And I love you too.”

“Wow, way to show up what _I_ said.”

Peter snorted a laugh and MJ propped herself up on her elbow to look at his smiling brown eyes. She traced his jaw, his chin with her fingertips and remembered what he’d said to her that one time she’d texted him to joke that his home missed him. How he’d twisted her words in the kindest, sweetest way. At the time, it had made her ache. MJ felt very differently now that they were together. She thought about the two of them and how it didn’t really matter if they were at the compound, at his apartment or hers.

MJ smiled back and said, “Welcome home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting so close to the end!
> 
> Next week:  
> 


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The reveals start comin' and they don't stop comin' and they don't stop comin' and they don't―
> 
> JK. It's only one chapter. How many reveals could there pooooossibly be?

XXVII

“Don’t forget this one,” MJ said, grabbing the shirt scrunched in the back corner of the dresser’s bottom drawer and tossing it at Peter.

He knew what it was―he _had_ to, by that colour―but he still unfolded the purple t-shirt with a groan to reveal the words on the front: ‘NUTJOBS 4 THANOS.’ Tony Stark had made it for him specially after Peter’d taken down those guys in Cleveland on the day of their decathlon tournament. Her boyfriend kicking terrorist butt, their team winning the tournament, her yelling at him that she loved him… So many memories from that day. Sometimes everything came right down to the wire like that, with him. Today, for example. They were in his room at the compound, getting everything packed up for his move back to Queens. He’d stayed with MJ and her mom on Thursday night and they’d laid low at the apartment all day Friday. Romanoff had contacted them every so often; like the photographer from the _Daily Bugle_ , she’d been watching the Parkers’ building, which was how she’d known to come to MJ’s aid the other night. The two men MJ had fought off were apparently being processed however they processed the kind of people who went after superheroes’ friends and family and there hadn’t been any sign of further threats. It had left MJ feeling shaky but determined to help Peter get home and resolve his shit once and for all.

He had a lot of t-shirts.

“If you keep unfolding them all, it’s going to take us twice as long,” MJ complained, eyeing the pile of unfolded t-shirts on Peter’s bed. He’d been reading them, chuckling, and setting them aside as she continued to pull stacks of clothing from his dresser. Idiot. They were _his_ shirts. Anyone would think this nerd had never read these tired science jokes before.

“I thought you liked going through my stuff. Remember the first time I brought you here?”

“I remember you freaking out,” she recalled smugly, “and slamming that drawer shut because those were inside.” She pointed at his Spider-Man pajamas, mercifully still folded, in his open suitcase.

“Well, you didn’t know I was Spider-Man then,” Peter said defensively.

He started folding his clothes and MJ purposely didn’t watch. She was afraid, at this point, that she wouldn’t like his technique and the urge to redo it all would come over her. Her mom had turned her into a maniac for proper treatment and storage of clothing for space-saving and longevity.

“Which was a miracle.” MJ took a last look in all of his drawers to ensure nothing had been left behind. She turned to her boyfriend and observed him for a minute, thinking. “Do you think you’ll be relieved when everybody knows?”

“Depends on how things work out. If I confirm my identity and they just accept it, then yeah, I’ll be relieved, but if people want to go on believing Jameson’s stupid story about me being a murderer, then things might get harder. I’ll have to start being secretive about Peter Parker.”

He huffed a sarcastic laugh and MJ frowned. Standing next to him, she began packing the irregular stacks of Peter’s t-shirts into his suitcase for him.

“We’ll figure it out,” she said, not looking at him.

“You always say that.”

“And have I been wrong?”

“The reality,” Peter said instead of answering her question, “is that everybody could turn against me. People aren’t much kinder to heroes than they are to regular people.” He stole a sideways glance at her. “Things could still be dangerous for you.”

Rather than tucking them in nicely, MJ dropped the clothes she was holding into his luggage and spun to face him.

“I swear to god, Peter, if you try to break up with me after all of this bullshit―”

“No!” He put his hands up to show her his palms. “No way. I was just thinking that we might need to take extra precautions.”

“Maybe,” she allowed, going back to her task. “You’re wrong though.”

“About what?”

“People turning against you. Very few people aren’t on Spider-Man’s side, Peter, and the ones who are won’t change their minds when you tell them he’s you and you’re him.”

“You sound pretty sure.”

“You’re young, you’re sincere, and you have big brown eyes like a baby animal.”

“Hey!” Peter interjected.

“They’ll probably try to protect you as much as you protect them.”

“That’ll kind of make it tough to do my job.”

“Oh, they’ll get over it fast enough,” MJ assured him. She’d watched the media tide change daily with new press on Spider-Man this summer. “People will be taking you for granted again in no time. You notice how little most people care that there’s a hundred-foot-tall green woman in the Harbor? One day you’re a novelty, the next you’re part of the scenery.”

“I thought I… I thought I was kind of a symbol though,” Peter said shyly, folding his second-last t-shirt.

She turned and smirked at him.

“You are. I have a sticker of your mask on my laptop to prove it. Did I tell you I found out where to order those? I guess I forgot during the near-death experience.” She shrugged while her boyfriend appeared pained by the reminder. “I bought a bunch. We’re totally plastering them all over your binders before we go back to school on Thursday.”

“Definitely not.”

“Oh yeah. Your locker too.”

“That’d be so embarrassing,” he whined.

“I’m counting on it,” she explained. “That’s how we’ll keep you humble when everybody starts fawning all over you.”

“Not sure you’re gonna want to wear that one in public,” Happy said from the doorway.

MJ looked from him to the pro-Thanos shirt Peter was holding up, about to fold in half.

“Come on, Happy,” Peter pleaded, “gimme a little credit.”

He folded it even more roughly than the rest and MJ quickly closed the suitcase on it, leaving her boyfriend to zip it up as she turned to face Happy.

“You’re looking chipper,” she noted.

“Just got the call from Tony at Pepper’s appointment.” That grabbed Peter’s attention and he focused on Happy too.

“ _And_?” he prompted.

“They’re having a girl!”

“Aww, a girl!” Peter exclaimed.

MJ could only smile. From her boyfriend’s texts this summer, she knew Tony’d taken to practice-parenting him, seemingly unconsciously. He’d have been a good dad to a boy, coaching his son through successes and insecurities, and yet, MJ thought about how Stark had developed a rapport with _her_ over the last year. They’d started out rocky, and they still got on each other’s nerves and in each other’s faces―mostly over Peter―but he was dependable, he was decent, and he had a sarcastic ripple running through the very core of his personality that was a hell of a lot like hers. It was pretty easy to picture him raising a daughter.

“May was with me,” Happy continued, “and then in the excitement right after, I told her I love her!”

Ignoring the way this bonus piece of news had tripped her boyfriend up, MJ went over and gave Happy a thunderous high-five. Maybe Peter’d made himself intentionally blind to how close Happy and May had grown since the Parkers moved into the compound, but Happy had updated MJ on his feelings and hopes for his relationship often. Too often, arguably.

“She said it back,” he told her, unprompted.

“Of course she did,” MJ said with a smile.

Happy, looking overwhelmed between his good luck with May and news of the baby, jerked MJ into a hug. She rolled her eyes and patted him on the back.

“Tony said it was ok with Pepper if I wanted to tell you guys about the baby, but he’s planning to call…”

Peter’s phone rang right then. It wasn’t his old one, or a super-secret one to replace the one he’d apparently smashed against a building, but a new one he’d be able to repopulate with all his old contacts once he returned and made his big announcement to the press.

“Hey, Mr. Stark?”

MJ watched him, and then she didn’t. Peter was beaming and had tears of joy in his eyes when she turned her head away to help Happy lug her boyfriend’s stuff out into the main living area of their apartment.

“Morgan?” she heard him say. “That’s a great name. Yeah, yeah, I really like it. _Morgan_.”

“So, you’re pretty head over heels for that dork, huh?” Happy asked as they stood there, giving Peter some privacy. She must’ve had some kind of look on her face.

“Look who’s talking. How long have you been pining for May again?”

Happy broke, snorting a laugh.

“You know,” he said, “the four of us should go on a double-date sometime.”

“No.”

“Oh, come on. I’ll let you gloat about all the advice you gave that helped my relationship.”

“No.”

MJ firmly put her back to him right when Peter walked out to meet them. He looked so fucking happy that it softened the tight expression on her face like microwaved butter.

“Mr. Stark’s all gooey over the baby. He told me he’s proud of me for going home and looking after my people. ‘Your people,’ he said.” He laughed in disbelief, then narrowed his eyes to take in the scene he’d walked into. “What’s going on?”

“I’m saving you from unspeakable evil,” MJ explained. “You should thank me.”

Peter pulled her into a loose hug, hands clasped at her lower back, and nudged his nose past her hair to speak quietly near her ear.

“You know exactly how I’m going to thank you,” he said.

She recalled the repaired projector and delicate, newly-crafted sensor Peter had made for their fantasy simulation. He’d shown her all the components after she’d arrived, before stealthily packing them up in a case, putting it at the bottom of a cardboard box, and piling his school stuff around and on top of it.

“Quit being so cozy,” Happy complained. “Nobody wants to know what was going on those nights Peter snuck off to Queens.”

They pulled apart and MJ gripped Peter’s shoulder as his arm tucked around her waist. His expression was stunned.

“You knew I snuck out?”

“Are you kidding me? Everybody knew.”

“ _What_?”

“Not May; I didn’t want to worry her.”

“Yeah,” Peter said. “But… but…!”

MJ kissed his cheek consolingly.

“Give him a minute to process,” she suggested to Happy, who left with a cardboard box. Jeeze, déjà vu.

“Nobody tried to stop me,” Peter said.

“They trust you.”

“ _Still_.”

She didn’t know what else to tell him and, luckily, she didn’t have to think of anything because Peter’s phone vibrated in his pocket, where her leg was pressed to his.

“Stark again?” she asked when he pulled it out.

“Ned.”

So maybe he’d already added a couple of his old contacts to this phone.

Her boyfriend had only let go of her long enough to get the phone again. Answering it, he moved it to his other hand and wrapped his arm back around her.

“Holy shit, you _did_?!” he said abruptly, nearly pulling MJ down with him when he practically bent in half in his exuberance.

She escaped his hold and sat on a box.

“When, last night? Man, that’s awesome! And everything was… ok?” Peter lowered his voice to mumble. What the fuck was he talking to Ned about that he had to act so squirrely? “Yeah, for sure, we’ll talk more when I’m home. Pizza and homework on Friday night? Dude, stop, I’ll schedule that shit around seeing you. I’m not just gonna do interviews all the time now and not watch _Star Wars_ with my best friend.” He laughed loudly and MJ stared at him, feeling equally fond and confused. Her boyfriend was such a nerd.

Peter raised a hand to run across the top of his head and the hem of his t-shirt lifted. Such a ridiculously ripped nerd. When he hung up, MJ questioned him with her eyebrows.

“Betty overshares with you almost as much as Ned does with me, right?”

“When the mood strikes her,” she said cautiously.

“ _This_ you’re gonna hear about.”

“Oh god.”

* * *

King T’Challa was away from the compound, doing his diplomatic thing in NYC, with whatever that entailed. Meetings and handshakes were what MJ pictured. He’d taken Okoye and another member of the Dora Milaje with him for protection. Apparently, Princess Shuri had been expecting to largely keep herself entertained in the labs (and bother Dr. Banner for as long as his patience seemed likely to stand), but she’d been delighted to change those plans to hang out with Peter and MJ instead.

She’d heard about the attack, of course―in fact, it was part of the reason her brother had left her behind today, nervous about taking her away from a place he knew she’d be well-defended by both security systems and whichever Avengers were bumming around―and approached discussion of it with care. MJ appreciated that, but she could also tell that she wasn’t the only who relaxed when she and the princess began to gradually stop treading on eggshells and address the encounter in more straightforward terms. When MJ assured Shuri that she was ok, her bruises already changing colour on their way to disappearing, the princess seemed relieved. And she seemed to take it as encouragement to discuss a related topic; gleefully, she informed MJ that she’d begun brainstorming new capabilities and extensions for a Mace-y Gray Mark 2. How did MJ feel about electric shocks, Shuri wanted to know. Blades? Boomerangs? There was no way she’d give the princess anything but free reign after having her design such a sleek, effective weapon in the first place, so she was happy to agree with every suggestion. MJ held Peter’s hand as his expression grew increasingly alarmed.

It wasn’t all shoptalk though. None-too-slyly, Shuri brought up Cindy, asking how she was, what she’d been doing (in the whole _two_ days since they’d met). MJ offered to give Shuri her best friend’s phone number because they hadn’t exchanged numbers at the stadium. That was surprising for how… friendly they’d become with each other in such a short time, but MJ figured giving out your phone number was a bigger deal for royalty than it was for the average person. Maybe Shuri didn’t want to break protocol and have Okoye report it to her brother. Maybe she was genuinely just a little shy about asking. MJ didn’t know how much Shuri interacted with people who weren’t either royalty, scientists, elite warriors, or Avengers. Did she have regular friends? Did she _date_? She was pretty sure it was the latter thing that propelled the princess’s interest in Cindy. Asking Shuri straight out felt a little too familiar and presumptuous. Anyway, now that she’d hopefully be texting Cindy, MJ could find out from her best friend how things developed. She was so excited for her.

For today, MJ played it cool, though she made sure to praise Cindy as often as she could without it being weird―she talked up her skill on academic decathlon, her reliability, her ambition of becoming an architect. It was easy and would hopefully give the princess some talking points when she reached out to Cindy. Peter added that Cindy was loyal and ruthless, citing the way she’d interrogated Brad Davis on the burger non-date he’d heard so much about.

They’d been killing time until Tony and Pepper got home and they could celebrate them finding out the baby’s sex, but before the soon-to-be parents arrived back at the compound, Romanoff came down from a secure floor with an expression that said she meant business. She had a tablet clasped in her hands. MJ’s laughter trailed off as she looked from the princess to the spy.

“What happened?” Peter was the first to ask, scrambling up from the couch.

“There’s a development,” Romanoff stated.

“There is?”

“Yes. Thanks to some outside-the-box thinking by the princess here, we found a new approach to tracing that footage outing Peter, going right to the source.”

“The source being... Beck?” MJ guessed.

“Close,” the spy allowed. “The _Daily Bugle_.”

“You know how they got it?” Peter asked excitedly.

“We know how and we know who. Brad Davis.”

“Brad Davis?” MJ echoed.

What she immediately felt was confusion. _Brad_? Sure, he didn’t like Peter. And he’d mistakenly believed that he could somehow win her away from her boyfriend. And gotten friendly with her again the second Peter was apparently out of the picture, fleeing a potential mob of Spidey-haters. And told his co-worker that she was his girlfriend. Jesus! Brad! Maybe, in terms of motivation, he _was_ capable of doing this to them. Maybe he seriously had zero ethics and was willing to take any action to get Peter out of the way so he could make another pass at MJ. That burger-eating, basketball-dribbling, persistent sonofabitch! She should have guessed this! But, wait, the reason she _hadn’t_ was that, as much of an asshole Brad definitely was, she didn’t think there was any connection between him and that even bigger asshole, Quentin Beck. Brad had been running for his life same as the rest of them during the London attack. Besides, he’d already been proven inept once, when he tried to show her that picture of Peter with his pants down in an effort to make her suspicious of her boyfriend. Brad was a dick, not a criminal mastermind. To say otherwise would’ve just been flattering him.

“I get it,” she concluded. “But I _don’t_ get it. How the hell did Brad manage to get his hands on that footage? And how was he not bragging about it when I went to see him at the _Bugle_? Was the humble intern thing just an act? It didn’t seem like one.”

“Well,” Romanoff explained, “we also did a deep analysis of EDITH. The first time we examined EDITH’s data, it was to study commands issued by Beck, during his time in possession of the glasses.”

“My bad,” Peter muttered. Distractedly, MJ squeezed his shoulder.

“The second time, we focused on Peter’s time in control. It seems that one of his directives,” the spy informed them with a smirk, “was ordering a drone strike on Brad Davis.”

“ _What_?” MJ demanded, turning to her boyfriend. “You tried to _murder_ Brad?”

“Not on purpose!” he swore. “He was just pissing me off. He kept sitting next to you and you were so patient with him at the beginning, which he totally didn’t deserve...”

Peter was getting himself wound up, so she cut him off.

“I know I made a mistake giving him the benefit of the doubt at the beginning, but a _drone strike_ , Peter?”

He chuckled awkwardly.

“Just a little misunderstanding between me and EDITH.”

“Well, what we’ve deduced from that attempted hit on Brad,” Romanoff said, still smirking slightly, “is that Beck may have interpreted it as Brad being Peter’s enemy. And of course, the enemy of Beck’s enemy is, theoretically, his friend.”

“That might be the one reasonable thought he ever had,” Peter mused.

“Hold on,” MJ interrupted. “How did Beck know about Peter almost killing Brad?”

“We assume through EDITH,” the spy said.

“So then how did he get in contact with Brad?”

“He was watching your phones. Yours, Jones, plus a couple of your classmates. It was for the purpose of tracking you, using threats to your lives as leverage over Peter, but it looks like Beck got creative when he realized things weren’t going his way.”

“Brad didn’t know,” Peter said, sudden realization in his tone. “It was always Beck. He got access to Brad’s phone and figured out he could use him to hurt me. Actually involving him would’ve been messy and unnecessary. Beck was a control freak. He acted like a team player, but it was him running the show. With me and with his people behind the scenes. Why would he tip off Brad, a random guy in my class, and risk Brad saying something or doing anything that would’ve screwed up his plans?”

“Beck planted the video in Brad’s phone, then?” MJ asked, looking from her boyfriend to Romanoff.

“Yes,” she said. “And there was something else interesting in Brad’s phone. Something that would’ve provided even more incentive for Beck to smuggle the footage through _this_ phone in particular. Brad Davis had recently received an email informing him that he’d been hired for a summer internship―”

“At the _Daily Bugle_.”

Romanoff nodded solemnly.

“The footage was ready and waiting in Brad’s phone, and when he connected to the _Bugle_ ’s wifi, it uploaded, presumably without his knowledge.”

“Then it just popped up in Jameson’s inbox like a Hanukkah present,” Peter guessed, crossing his arms. He looked like he was trying to contain his irritation, tucking it in close to himself. That would only hurt him, so MJ grabbed his hand and pulled it free, holding it securely in hers.

“Seed dispersal,” she suddenly recalled.

“What?”

“At your party,” she prompted. “Remember? What Stark said about bad guys sneaking a virus through with your homework to get at the compound’s network. I thought it was just a bunch of bullshit he was saying to stop us from leaving to... Uh.” MJ cleared her throat and didn’t continue. No need to inform their audience that she and Peter had snuck off to bang during his birthday party. Granted, Romanoff had probably read their intention at the time, but MJ preferred not to overshare with the Princess of Wakanda too.

“Specifically,” Romanoff said, getting them back on topic, “the footage popped up in his inbox through the paper’s intranet, under the name of a sender we assume he would have reason to trust. A fact-checker,” Romanoff clarified, glancing at the tablet she carried.

“Brad’s cousin is a fact-checker at the Bugle. He told me the first time we talked about his internship.”

“Sorry,” Shuri said, jumping in. Incredibly, MJ had almost forgotten the presence of a _princess_ , she was so focused on Romanoff’s news. “Surely this cousin would have been asked about the email, or recognized in some way. Why would they not have said that they were not responsible for sending it?”

“I know the answer to this one,” MJ volunteered, frowning. “Jameson’s a human piece of garbage and a total tyrant to his staff, but he would’ve made whoever delivered something as valuable as the footage exposing Spider-Man’s identity his new best friend. Obviously, some of us are morally upright enough to come forward with the truth no matter what, even if the truth was that we didn’t know how that email came to be sent, but I bet working under Jameson really screws with your head. The cousin was probably just grateful for a reprieve. Plus, it’s _Brad’s_ cousin. In that family, who knows what the moral standard was to begin with?”

“ _Ugh_ ,” Peter groaned.

“Ah,” the princess said in comprehension.

“A team has been dispatched to collect Brad, bring him in to fill any holes in the story,” Romanoff said.

“As much as I really, really hate him right now,” MJ prefaced, “I have to object to Brad being snatched off the street and thrown into the back of a van. He does have certain basic rights as a human and a citizen of New York.”

“Don’t worry, we’ve done this before. He won’t be harassed in any way, and, as a minor, his family and legal representation were contacted. There’s no mysterious van. Not even a bag over the head.”

“You sound disappointed.”

“You might be projecting, Jones.”

That was fair. MJ was pretty furious at Brad. This entire situation both was and wasn’t his fault. If she and Peter had really broken up over Jameson’s breaking news story, she would’ve at minimum had a shitty summer. But it was worse than that. Brad had indirectly ruined not just Peter’s summer but his _life_. Yeah, they were fixing that, but it still made MJ want to egg Brad’s house or whack him with her mace (spikes retracted, naturally). Fucking asshole.

“Brad will be interviewed,” the spy said, “but then I thought Peter might like to speak with him, since he is such a close personal acquaintance.” She smiled sarcastically.

“How do you know I won’t just punch him in the face?” Peter wondered.

“You’re better than that.”

Romanoff didn’t say it like a warning or an admonishment, just a fact. It was a fact that MJ strongly agreed with.

“Do you think we should go?” her boyfriend asked her as his hand tightened its grip on hers.

“Oh,” she said, surprised, “I think this is just for you.”

“I’m not confronting Brad without you. This has affected both of us and you’re the one who’s had to deal with him this summer.”

MJ thought about it for a minute.

“Yeah, we should talk to him. Maybe being able to face him will give you, I don’t know, closure? And we can put all this shit behind us.”

He turned back to Romanoff.

“Ok,” he told her. “We wanna see Brad.”

* * *

He wasn’t in a cell or an interrogation room or anything―just sitting in one of more than a dozen chairs in an otherwise empty conference room―when MJ walked in with Peter. The man she took to be Brad’s lawyer passed them in the doorway. These signs, plus Romanoff’s assurances (and MJ trusted her fairy spymother with her life), convinced her that Brad’s rights were being observed and respected. She felt fully justified in proceeding unsympathetically. Maybe this was what being possessed by Cindy would feel like. Without her best friend here, MJ decided to be just as blunt, as focused, as unrelenting as Cindy would’ve been.

“’Sup,” she began, eyes narrowed a little tighter than her casual appraisal.

“MJ,” Brad said. He spoke her name in a weird tone, like he wanted to ask a question but already knew the answer, or to say there’d been a misunderstanding but had learned enough to accept the facts and his part in them.

MJ wanted to take the chair directly across from his, lean forward, and tear into him, but that honour belonged to Peter. She ceded the chair, nodding her boyfriend towards it, and sat down in the one to its right. Trying not to let the wheelie conference chair make her feel like the three of them were just a bunch of kids playacting, she drew close to the table and folded her arms on its thick glass surface. It was amazingly cold against her skin. Man, what this building’s air conditioning bill must be...

“You’re not gonna plead or anything, right?” was the startling launch of Peter’s contribution to the conversation. “It’d be weird, Brad.”

Brad laughed nervously.

“But nothing’s going to happen to me,” he stated, though it was clearly a question, from the anxious look in his eyes and the strained way he wasn’t letting his smile drop. “None of what happened was actually my fault.”

“Wasn’t it?” MJ asked, giving him a hard stare. After a pause, she said, “Nah, I’m messing with you.”

Peter pulled Brad’s freaked-out eyes back to him.

“We understand that you didn’t mean to expose me as Spider-Man―”

“Man, that’s true? I knew you were shady, but―”

“Brad, just... just shut up,” Peter requested. MJ fought to keep her grin contained. “Try to appreciate that I don’t have to be nice or patient with you right now. Like I said, we know you weren’t anything more than an ignorant tool...”

“ _That’s_ you being nice to me? Fuck you, Parker.”

MJ caught Peter glancing over at her from the corner of her eye, met his gaze, and looked away before the both of them could crack up.

“You’ll be fine,” her boyfriend told Brad seriously. “You were like... a messenger. And you didn’t even know you were carrying a message. You’re not gonna get in trouble for that.”

“Are you sure? Because the Black Widow was giving me this stare like she wanted to snap my neck.”

“That’s how she makes friends,” MJ joked dryly.

“Well, that’s...” Brad swallowed and twitched his head. “...that’s alright. As long as everyone understands that I’m innocent and, and that I never even thought Parker murdered that guy.”

“I have a question. I don’t know if they asked you this, but did you tell anybody that I was going to the Parkers’ apartment?”

“I... I...”

“I was attacked there,” she told him. “By two men. I fought them off. I mean, the bruises are mostly gone now, and my cheek isn’t swollen anymore from where one of them hit me.” MJ laughed a single, bitter laugh.

“Oh my god,” Brad said, leaning towards her with his hands braced on the table. “MJ, I _swear_ , I didn’t repeat that to anyone. I don’t know any hitmen and if I did I would never send them after you. I would never do anything to hurt you.”

MJ was sure that Romanoff was probably listening to this conversation. Nevertheless, she’d make sure to let the spy know that the question of who’d tracked her to Peter’s place the other night remained unanswered. Maybe someone still had access to Brad’s phone and they’d treated it like a radio left on in the background, only really tuning in when any relevant information was being exchanged. Such as Cindy blurting out that MJ was visiting the Parkers’. Didn’t matter how they’d found out, not really. The main thing was that they’d wanted to hurt her or take her (she was guessing not kill her, since they could’ve just, _fuck_ , shot her or something instead of that whole fight). The Avengers had some more work to do, in MJ’s opinion.

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s exactly true,” she said. “You have been trying pretty hard to get between Peter and I.”

“And not in a threesome way,” Peter added. MJ blinked and turned her head to stare at him.

“Peter, _what_?”

“Sorry, I talked to Flash a _lot_ this summer. Threesomes were a weirdly common topic for him.”

“Anyway,” she told Brad, “you were a total dirtbag and never respected our relationship.”

“You’re still together then,” Brad said. “You’ve been together this whole time?”

He looked incredibly annoyed. Boy, what a short time it had taken from worrying about Romanoff rearranging his vertebrae to retaking his usual form as a home-wrecking asshole.

“Peter’s identity being revealed and the way we had to weather the fallout brought us closer,” MJ said. “That’s maybe the biggest reason I believe you didn’t know what was happening. You would _never_ have intentionally done anything to strengthen Peter and I’s relationship.”

“Aww,” Peter said, making her roll her eyes.

He reached over to take her hand, but she decided to do him one better. MJ pushed away from the desk and grabbed the back of Peter’s chair, wheeling him backwards as well. Then, she sat down in his lap. She took several seconds to savour the look on Brad’s face. Just as the resignation seemed to be setting in, she turned her head and kissed Peter, Spider-Man, her boyfriend. Instantly, he was kissing her back, one hand on her waist and the other deep in her hair.

“Oh, come on,” she heard Brad mutter.

MJ smiled against Peter’s mouth, not breaking the kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and commenting as we approach the end! Just two chapters to go! Favourite moment in this one?
> 
> In the next chapter, the Parkers move home to Queens and Peter has something to say...


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second last chapter!  
> 

XXVIII

She looked at him in his suit. Not his Spider-Man suit, just a nice suit, the suit he’d been wearing when they’d gone to the opera in Prague. Tony’d offered to get him a new one, something slick and super expensive, but her boyfriend had turned it down. Today was about being himself.

The press probably would’ve flocked to be here if they’d held it on the weekend, either Saturday (the day Brad was questioned) or Sunday. MJ was sure Pepper Potts could’ve pulled a press conference together, especially considering they’d been preparing for something like this since Peter’s identity was exposed by J. Jonah Jameson. Anyway, it was Monday, bright and early, three days before school would start, and she was possibly more nervous than he was. Pepper, five months pregnant, had corralled them into a comfortable little living space―the kind this compound seemed to have a million of, just tucked away until they were needed. But MJ couldn’t relax. She couldn’t sit. Peter was still in the room, mumbling to himself under his breath the words that he’d soon say to a roomful of journalists, and yet, MJ continually glanced at the large monitor on the wall. Right now, it displayed an empty podium, but soon, it was where Peter would stand to deliver his speech. She wouldn’t be going in with him; just Pepper, because she was in charge; Happy, to shut it down if the questions turned hostile or there was a security issue; and Tony, to bolster Peter’s credibility by standing near him and looking generally approving.

May caught MJ’s hand as she paced past the couch again. She gave it a pat, smiling comfortingly up at her. MJ tried to smile back. She wished she were walking out there with Peter, but they were still trying to play it safe. Being together didn’t have to involve being together in front of a couple dozen cameras. Putting her up there at his side would just generate questions, detracting from Peter’s statement and probably triggering a media investigation into all things Michelle Jones. Ugh. Pass. She understood the logic. She could do this, just sit in here and watch her boyfriend claim his alter ego on the screen. There were people to keep her company: May, Ned, Romanoff, _Cindy and Shuri holding hands_. The only reason MJ hadn’t cornered her best friend to comment on how obviously well things were going (considering she’d just given Shuri Cindy’s number two days ago) was because she was too full of nerves about this press conference. She was rattled and she didn’t like it. She wished she had Mace-y Gray to grip, like a stress ball you could also use to poke holes in people.

“Sit with me,” May requested, patting MJ’s hand once more. MJ gave up and dropped onto the couch next to Peter’s aunt. “This is a good team here. They’ll get him through it.”

MJ nodded. May had to be at least as nervous as she was―her nephew’s identity, his integrity, hell, his whole _life_ was on the line here―but she looked calm as she swished her hair back over her shoulder. Maybe it was just that being in love suited her. Her grip tightened, though, when Pepper gave them all a reassuring nod and left the room. MJ noticed Peter stumble in the script he was repeating to himself as he watched Pepper go. With a wink to May, Happy followed. Collectively, those of them remaining in the room turned their heads to the screen to see Pepper step behind the podium.

As she presented the address that would precede Peter’s appearance, MJ’s foot bounced frantically. In a steady, practiced voice and just one reminder to a reporter who tried to interrupt with a question that those would have to wait to the end, Pepper laid out the evidence she and everyone who comprised ‘Peter’s team’ had gathered since his unmasking in July. Oh, the media (and the world) would get to see Spider-Man, but not until she’d swayed any doubters over to believing in his innocence. Some of the information was data MJ was familiar with, like the disrupted drone patterns Happy had explained at Peter’s birthday party. But so much of it was new. MJ’s comprehension was fine and she was picking up all the points Pepper had clearly simplified for dissemination to the gathered members of the press, but there was a whole other layer to the case she was outlining; it involved Pepper getting into some deeply specific technical shit, even calling Dr. Bruce Banner (no wonder MJ hadn’t seen him earlier) over to take her place as an expert. This made sense. Pepper provided the buzzwords, the catchphrases, everything the journalists could latch onto for headlines and pull-quotes, then went through and bolstered the hell out of everything to authenticate it. It was all simple enough that her audience could nod along as their cameras picked it up and they jotted additional notes, but also complex enough to prove this wasn’t some Tony Stark flash-and-bang, all showmanship and no substance. Pepper offered two versions of the same truth and MJ was kinda inspired. What was this woman’s job title anyway? Could MJ just, like, grow up to be a Pepper Potts? Pepper was polished and professional, cheeky and charming, always on time and totally, totally, totally in control. Plus, MJ knew she kicked noncorporate ass on the side.

Anyway, a lot of the super technical stuff went over her head and suddenly Tony was steering Peter to the door. It was nearly his cue. MJ jumped up. She hurried to him and couldn’t think of anything to say, so she just flung her arms around his neck and hugged him hard. Over his shoulder, she viewed Pepper onscreen, displaying a final piece of evidence in Peter’s favour: accelerated video footage showing the two men who had attacked MJ climbing through the window of the Parkers’ apartment, then Peter coming to the rescue. Obviously, Romanoff had been watching over his place as well as hers. Peter looked like absolute hell with his tattered clothes and bloodied hands and MJ clutched him to her even tighter. It’d been such a short time ago, but she’d forgotten how injured he’d been when he arrived to save her. (She hadn’t needed it. Still counted in his favour.) Peter squeezed her in return, then rubbed between her shoulder blades. Embarrassed, MJ stepped back from him and smiled self-consciously.

“At least he’s finally dressed appropriately,” Romanoff remarked. It made MJ laugh, remembering Peter’s tales of the Black Widow intercepting him and insisting on a wardrobe change.

“We gotta go put your guy on the cover of every major newspaper,” Tony told her, clasping Peter’s shoulder to lead him from the room. It was a pretty fucking blasé comment, until he gave MJ a look that just spoke to her somehow. He was telling her that this was him setting things right. The sincerity of it made her wonder if Stark felt guilty about not being there in Europe.

“As if anyone still listens to the news,” MJ joked dryly. Tony gave her a sly grin and twisted to lock eyes with his protégé.

“Hope you’ve been practicing your smile for the cameras, kid.”

Peter laughed awkwardly and they went out, closing the door after them. MJ exhaled loudly, returning to her seat. All she had left to do between now and when it was over was observe. Her old habit.

One of the reporters in there had to be here representing the _Bugle_. All MJ knew was that it wasn’t Jameson; Stark had forbidden him entrance. He’d even said something about having Jameson shot on sight if he did try to come, which MJ thought was _probably_ a joke.

God, Peter looked nervous as he stepped up to the podium and flashed the assemblage that under-practiced smile. The microphone picked up his soft murmur to himself: “ _Come on, Spider-Man_.” But MJ sat there, in that cushy little room full of stress and sweat and support and love and thought the same thing, thought it really hard: _Come on, Spider-Man_. Between her attempts at telepathically encouraging her boyfriend and the way he relaxed the longer he spoke, she watched him get through it. May’s hand became very tight around MJ’s fingers when Peter quoted his Uncle Ben at the end, about power and responsibility, and wrapped it up with, “…and I’m gonna keep balancing those things every day when I come back. That’s what I’m gonna try my best to do.”

He turned to glance at Tony, who nodded firmly. That was it then, he’d done it. MJ let herself tip back against the couch instead of keeping her elbows perched on her knees. Peter was stepping back, apparently about to cede the mic to Pepper as she opened the floor for questions, when he suddenly darted forward again.

“Oh yeah,” he added. “I am Spider-Man.”

MJ watched Tony snort a laugh and drag Peter backwards by the shoulders to get the loser away from the podium.

* * *

May hugged him first, after. She told him she was proud and that Ben would’ve been proud and that he looked handsome in his suit. Basically, she mothered him until he was blushing fiercely, then Ned got in there and pulled his best friend into an enormous hug, only breaking away so the two nerds could do their special handshake. Finally, it was Peter and MJ. They reached for each other’s hands at the same time.

“How was it?” he asked her.

“Not bad. I think you picked up some writing tips in that English class. How was it for you up there?”

“Well, I webbed one guy’s mic to his chest and he couldn’t get it unstuck, so that was kind of embarrassing.” Peter scratched at the back of his head, looking sheepish. But MJ laughed.

“I heard that guy ask why he was supposed to believe you were Spider-Man, I saw you put your arm out and fire off a web, then you had that look on your face. I figured something happened. He was being a dick. I think he got the answer he deserved.”

“Yeah… Hey, you know what? I learned something.”

“What?”

“There was never even a warrant out for my arrest. The police didn’t believe I killed Beck.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I guess they were mildly suspicious of Spider-Man, but they didn’t actually have evidence that he’s me until this press conference. There was enough stacked against Beck after the attack in London that his word didn’t mean that much and that’s all the authority he really had to accuse me.”

“But are you going to have to talk to the cops or something now that, you know, they know you’re you?”

“There were a couple in there,” Peter informed her. “Pepper’s handing off copies of all the evidence now, then I’m supposed to sit down with them once the reporters clear out.”

“That’s a pain in the ass,” MJ said.

“Yeah, I know, but Mr. Stark’s leaning on them to review everything right away so they can publicly clear me today too. Just so everybody’s telling the same story.”

“Will he be in the room with you when you talk to him?”

“Yep,” he confirmed. “Tony, Pepper, May… I think Ms. Romanoff wants in too.”

“Definitely get Romanoff,” she encouraged with a grin.

Peter nodded and they talked for a few more minutes until his super-handlers came to get him again so he could speak to the police and _officially_ close the case of Quentin Beck’s nonmurder death. When he left, MJ realized she hadn’t seen Cindy in a bit. She didn’t think her friend had left the room where they’d watched the conference unfold, so MJ went back and pushed the door open. Cindy and Shuri were making out on the couch; Cindy’s hands were on Shuri’s waist and the princess’s were invisible beneath the shiny black strands of Cindy’s hair, tousling her formerly immaculate ponytail. MJ yelped and snapped the door shut.

“Don’t go in there,” she barked at Ned, who was wandering over to her with an easy grin, about to speak.

With a freaked-out expression, he began backing away from her instead.

“Ok, uh, I’m gonna go talk to Dr. Banner.”

MJ nodded briskly and Ned walked away. She nearly jumped when the door opened behind her a minute later. Cindy stepped out, red-faced and just tugging her ponytail back into place. Shuri emerged a second after that wearing a bashful smile. MJ glanced pointedly away as the princess touched her hand to Cindy’s lower back and spoke to her softly for a moment.

“MJ,” she said, finally grinning like her normal self when MJ looked over. MJ raised amused eyebrows.

“Shuri.”

The princess headed off, presumably to find Okoye or her brother. What could she have told Okoye to wrangle that private time with Cindy? MJ had no idea.

“Soooo,” Cindy said, rocking up on her toes. MJ shook her head at her friend and snorted a laugh.

“You’re bright pink.”

“August heatwave,” she explained. Her face grew redder than ever at being called out.

“Cindy, it’s the thirty-first.”

“Better late than never?”

“Fine,” MJ allowed, “you can have this one. You have anything else to say about… _that_?”

“Oh that’s nothing,” Cindy said with a dismissive flap of her hand. Abruptly, the giddy look on her face sank into disappointment. “She’s going home today. Back to Wakanda.”

MJ frowned in sympathy.

“I heard.”

“I’ll be ok,” Cindy said with a shrug.

“Seems like you guys are just getting started though. Unless there were clandestine meetings that I never heard about?”

Her best friend laughed.

“No.”

“Yeah, I didn’t think so. I would’ve figured it out,” MJ told her, narrowing her eyes to emphasize her canniness and observational skills.

“I don’t know,” Cindy shot back playfully. She stuck her hands into the pockets of her shorts and looked smug. “ _You_ thought it was unrealistic of me to set my sights on an actress and HA! I got a _princess_ instead.”

“I did not see that coming, but I will reluctantly admit that you deserve it. You guys are kind of adorable.”

“We’re _completely_ adorable,” Cindy corrected, hooking her arm around MJ’s neck before MJ wriggled free and swatted her ponytail. “I found my princess, even if it ends up just being a summer fling, and you’re back with your superhero. This is the world we’re living in, M. Can you believe it?”

MJ thought for a minute, then smiled.

“Some days, I almost can.”

* * *

The Wakandans had packed up and headed out, though MJ only heard about it from Peter. She was back in the city by then, deposited by a car that let a dreamy-faced Cindy out at her apartment and an eager-looking Ned out at Betty’s place. MJ didn’t know how he planned to spend the rest of his day and it wasn’t because Ned hadn’t offered to tell her―she’d just shut that down immediately. She didn’t need details.

Her mom was around and they sat together on the couch, eating leftover takeout (that June didn’t even trust her far enough to reheat―like, come _on_ ) and watching Peter’s press conference. June had watched it when it aired that morning, but neither of them wanted to change the channel. This was history. It was also MJ’s ‘sweet, nerdy boyfriend’ (her mom’s words) on TV. Either way, it was worth viewing more than once. Plus, this footage came from a news team who’d been positioned far enough back in the room that MJ got to see the effects of Peter loosing a web on that one sceptic reporter. They laughed at the TV and heckled the man for being a dumbass.

“Peter’s a good kid,” her mom said when it was over, podium empty and journalists dispersing on the feed.

MJ shrugged.

“He’s alright.”

“No, _you’re_ alright. He’s a hero.”

She knew her mom was pestering her on purpose, but she couldn’t stop herself from responding.

“You know I took down two adult men, right? You remember that?”

“Honey, that’s just all in a day’s work for you,” June said, cuddling her so close that MJ knew she was still plenty distressed about the attack beneath her flippant response. She kissed her daughter’s head.

“One girl’s work is another Spidey’s hobby,” MJ summarized with a sigh.

“He can call being Spider-Man whatever he likes. He saved my butt. I’ll be happy knowing he’s back on the beat.”

“Aw, are you a _fan_?”

Her mom stared her right in the eye as she lifted her laptop from the coffee table and displayed the pro-Spider-Man stickers plastered to its cover. Absolutely shameless.

“You’re embarrassing. If Peter ever saw that…” MJ groaned.

“Is he coming over?”

“He’s picking me up tomorrow. _Downstairs_ ,” she emphasized.

“Good. I don’t like you going anyplace alone. Not until they figure out who those men were.”

“I know. Peter’s walking me to his place and then he said he’d walk me home again after we unpack.”

“Ok,” June said. “And remind May that she can give me a call if she needs another hand.”

“I will, but I think we’ll be fine. Her boyfriend will be there too.”

“Tell her all the same, please,” her mom said in a tone that left no room for argument.

“ _Fine_.”

“Now, you wanna watch Peter stick that man’s microphone to his shirt again?”

MJ grinned.

“Yes, please.”

* * *

“She’s thinking about moving,” Peter told her as he walked back into his room.

He’d just removed a box of kitchen stuff that he’d hauled to his bedroom by mistake. Just plain _weird_ the stuff May had decided to pack during their scramble to get out of Queens.

“Seriously?” MJ asked, channeling her sudden distress into carefully lining up her boyfriend’s new books at one end of his desk. She gave _Macbeth_ ’s spine a light push to shift it into position, then slid his lamp into place to keep the books from toppling over. The nerd needed bookends. “But you guys just got back. We’re still _unpacking_.”

“Not now,” he promised. “Once I’m in college, May said.”

“So, she’s thinking about moving in with Happy?”

“Yeah. It’s...”

Peter trailed off. He shrugged and started putting his clothes away. Apparently tired of his own slow pace, he upended his suitcase on the bed, making MJ groan. Did he remember how long they’d spent _folding_? As he hung button-up shirts in his closet, she checked to make sure all the pockets of his suitcase were empty, then zipped it shut and shoved it under his bed. She trapped her hands beneath her thighs and kicked her legs, letting her feet swing.

“Are you scared?” MJ asked.

“Of not living here anymore or of May and Happy shacking up together?”

She laughed.

“Either one.”

“I’m not really any more attached to this place than anywhere else we’ve lived,” Peter said thoughtfully. He looked around his bedroom. “Even the compound started to feel like home. I guess it’ll just be funny not living with May anymore.”

“But you’ll probably be living in residence, right? You’ll have lots of new roommates.” MJ flicked an uncertain glance at him, then studied the tangled heap of action figures on his chair, waiting to be separated and displayed. “Maybe _we’ll_ live together, if we end up at the same school.”

“Yeah, I know,” he said easily.

She lifted her gaze and stared at him. _You know?_ she thought. The idea of living with her boyfriend kinda freaked her out, but he didn’t sound worried at all. He sounded like he’d thought it through already and accepted it as a solid plan, a natural next step. God, MJ was glad she had the better part of a year to figure that shit out.

“It’ll be good that she’s not by herself,” Peter added.

“Mhmm.”

“I mean, it’s _Happy_. I trust Happy.”

“So far you do.”

“What does that mean?” he asked, spinning around to face her while he tried to work one of his t-shirts onto a hanger.

Damn it, MJ hadn’t meant to put him on edge. She liked Happy too! But it wasn’t _her_ aunt he was banging. She could see how she might share Peter’s anxiety about that living situation in his position.

“Nothing. Things change. You’re right, I’m sure you’ll feel better knowing May has somebody when you move out.”

He sighed and hung his t-shirt.

“Yeah.”

“You’re not alone,” she blurted. Peter turned back to her, eyebrows lifting just before he gave her a gentle smile. “You know that, right?”

“Oh yeah?”

He walked over to her and tilted his head down, neither of them completely closing their eyes as their noses, then their lips, brushed. MJ’s hand was just fisting his t-shirt, Peter’s just landing on her thigh, when May’s footsteps came quick towards his bedroom door and they jumped apart. She didn’t come in, turning into her own bedroom instead, but MJ still shot her boyfriend a nervous look. Her pulse was racing.

“Back to sneaking around,” he joked.

“As if you ever stopped.”

“I forgot how hard it is to be alone with you in this apartment.”

MJ laughed.

“I thought you were sad about the idea of not living under May’s roof.”

“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t miss the constant fear of being caught.”

He ruffled his hair. May was still right across the hall; MJ could hear her shuffling boxes around while Happy unpacked (and possibly broke, by the sound of it) stuff in the kitchen. She leaned back on Peter’s bed.

“Oh god, M, don’t,” Peter groaned, gaze roving down her body.

She rolled her eyes and caught hold of his Spider-Man suit―the thing she’d been reaching out to grab. She sat up, shaking her head at her boyfriend’s one-track mind.

“I was just wondering what you were going to do with _this_. You don’t have to hide it anymore.”

MJ watched Peter’s eyes dart to his closet, his laundry hamper, the ceiling, all the places he’d tucked the suit away in the past when no one knew about his alter ego, even as more and more of the people close to him began to find out. Now, everyone was in on the secret. She thought he might as well keep the suit someplace it’d be easier to retrieve. As he frowned in thought, MJ draped the suit over her lap and held the neck with her chin. She laid the sleeves on top of her arms, and trapped the end of one between her fist and her cheek, posing like she too was contemplating the problem of where to keep it.

“There’s an idea,” Peter said with a grin.

“What?”

“You wear it and when I need it I’ll just take it off you.”

“You’re an idiot,” she told him, then bit her lip as he bent over her again, stroking her cheek when she let the suit fall onto her lap. MJ tilted her chin up...

“HAPPY, DID YOU SEE A BOX MARKED ‘BATHROOM’?” May shouted.

They hastily separated again as Peter’s aunt marched back towards the kitchen.

“They’ll have date nights,” MJ said. “They won’t be here _all_ the time. Just be patient.”

Peter hung his head in frustration.

“PETE?” May called from the kitchen.

He heaved a sigh and went to his doorway, gripping the frame as he leaned out.

“YEP?”

MJ heard his aunt come a little closer.

“We’ll have to do a bigger grocery shop soon, but I sent Happy out for sandwich stuff. Does that sound good?”

“Sure, May.”

Her footsteps retreated and Peter turned around.

“So,” he asked MJ, “do you want a sand―”

She set the suit aside, pushing herself off his bed and nearly tackling him in her determination to finally make their lips meet.

“What happened to patient?” Peter asked when they broke the kiss to breathe.

“Why are you wasting time talking?” MJ demanded, smirking. “I bet we can get to second base before the next interruption. Unless you’d rather go to the kitchen and wait for your sand―”

This time, he cut _her_ off. She decided moving days that brought people home were way better than the kind that took them away.


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we are at the end of the first sequel I've ever written. Remember when I finished _Affinity War_ and said it was a one-off? Maybe I'm a little wiser now, because I won't be making any firm predictions this time. Thank you to the readers who loved the first story enough to request a sequel, and to everyone who's commented on _Boyfri(endgame)_ along the way. I treasure you.
> 
> This chapter's a feel-good finale, so drop those shoulders. There's nothing to brace for but a pretty good time.

XXIX

In theory, college promised freedom from supervision, but Peter and MJ would have to work around their roommates’ schedules to ensure privacy. Date nights between May and Happy would come sooner than going off to college, but May wasn’t really comfortable leaving her nephew at home at night yet, fearing another break-in. Under the current circumstances, MJ had begun the process of accepting that she and Peter might not be alone together for quite some time. She hadn’t considered the tedious godsend of furniture shopping.

It was Wednesday, the last day of summer holidays, and with Peter all set in terms of school supplies (and who knew how prepared in terms of everything else when he walked into school tomorrow with everybody knowing he was Spider-Man), May had redirected her attention to other concerns surrounding the Parkers settling back into their home. One of those concerns was the fact that MJ’s attackers had kinda trashed the place. She’d felt guilty about it, since she was here and had been part of the destruction and those men weren’t around to offer to chip in for new furniture, but two things had assuaged her guilt: Stark offering to foot the bill and furniture shopping guaranteeing MJ and Peter hours of alone time while May contemplated coffee tables. Bringing Happy along for access to the company card or whatever (and for security), May apparently felt pretty relaxed about letting Peter stay home in the middle of the day. He, MJ, and Ned were supposed to be hanging out. And maybe they’d forgotten to mention that Ned wouldn’t be coming. Their heads may have been slightly swimming with heat and lust as May left the apartment and Peter flipped the lock behind her, so who could blame them?

“You wanna keep watching TV?” he asked, ambling back over to the couch where she sat.

MJ twisted in her seat and looked up at him.

“Not really.”

“Movie?”

“Nah.”

“Hmmm snack?”

“No thanks.”

With a thoughtful expression, Peter touched her shoulder, drawing sloppy circles with his fingertips on the bare skin next to the strap of her tank top.

“Wanna go for a walk?”

“In this heat? It’s like a hundred degrees outside.” MJ lightly clasped his hand and hung on as Peter trailed his fingers along her collarbone.

“So I should keep you in.”

His fingers skated up her throat, higher and higher, until she shuddered, flinching her head to the side.

“And quit suggesting distractions,” she said.

Peter’s laugh was slightly choked as he watched her guide his hand back down. She watched him swallow.

“I’m just trying to be a good host.”

“Well, quit trying to be a good host...” MJ brought his hand to cover her breast through her shirt. “...and start being a better one.”

He moved faster than she could track while concentrated on the feeling of his palm lightly kneading, head suddenly on her level, mouth suddenly on hers, body not pressing her back into the couch but urging her up into his. She was standing and that wasn’t enough for him, apparently. Bending slightly and swiftly, Peter grabbed the back of her thighs and forced his hips between them as he hoisted her up. MJ cupped his face in both hands, at first just trying to keep up with his frantic kisses, then to slow them enough by slipping her tongue into his mouth that Peter could walk them to his bedroom without bumping into anything. At least there wasn’t a coffee table to fall over. They’d have to watch out once May brought home a new one.

The sun was as hot and golden as a grilled cheese sandwich through Peter’s window―MJ glanced over with her back flat on Peter’s bed―but it was early afternoon and the light wasn’t yet slanting through the glass. It left their air-conditioned space cool. Cool sheets on her back, cool shadows in the bedroom when her boyfriend flicked the curtain across. She huffed a laugh when he bounced down on top of her with a huge grin, catching himself on his elbows so he didn’t crush her. Gradually, Peter lowered his weight and MJ quit laughing. Her gaze roamed from his eyes to his mouth and he got the message. His lips skimmed hers, then pressed firm, firm, firmer, like he didn’t know his limit, continuing to press down as her chin tipped up. A ripple of heat went through her. MJ’s hands flew to his waist and his moved hastily to part her thighs and pull her knees up as he pressed his growing erection between her legs as needily as he’d pressed their mouths together.

They broke the kiss gasping and dove right in for another. It was faster, messier, wetter, and so was everything else. MJ ground back against him as Peter rubbed the seam of her shorts into her clit with his dick. He shoved his hands beneath her shirt at her hips, bunching it up higher as she moved. Those hands, they were hot on her skin, and it didn’t matter because her skin was hot now too, and _that_ didn’t matter because she was covered in goosebumps as Peter’s mouth went to her neck. She felt his tongue just below her jaw and began to breathe unevenly. Scrambling, she wrestled his shirt off over his head while he laughed breathlessly, briefly trapped inside it. When he thumped back onto her, he planted his fists on the mattress, holding his arms stiff to either side of her. With his eyes locked on hers, Peter rocked his hips with a possessive certainty that had MJ, face flushed, lowering her eyes to watch his abdomen flex with the movement. She smoothed her hands up the hard planes of his naked back to encourage him back down to her. Before his chest could rest on hers, she hooked an arm behind his neck and surged up to kiss him.

Hips still working steadily, he traced the tip of his tongue across hers and, with one hand, inched her tank top up to uncover her bralette; it was too hot for foam cups and wires. Peter didn’t have to look to find her nipples with his fingers because they were already poking the cotton and MJ squirmed from the gentle way he circled one then the other.

“I want you so bad,” he mumbled against her lips. She hummed in response.

His eager words were a contrast to his delicate touch and MJ squeezed his hips between her thighs and drew a line down his spine with one finger, to say that she could be hard and soft at the same time too. She spread her fingers on his lower back, palm planted on his skin. In his room, there was only the sound of them breathing. Then, the clatter of a delivery truck driving over a pothole somewhere down below and the rumble of an inbound plane up above, and Peter’s heartbeat when she pressed her other hand to his strong chest to feel it―her favourite familiar rhythm of the city.

“I love you,” she said, eyelashes flickering as she looked to his eyes, then his mouth, both of which were too close to focus on.

“I love _you_.”

Their kissing became fevered and MJ shifted and stretched to let Peter remove her shirt and her bra. She smelt the earthy sweetness of his shampoo (oddly and wonderfully similar to the scent of sunscreen―was it coconut?), the biting freshness of his deodorant. His fingers were flipping open the button of her shorts and hers were curling around as much of the bulge in the front of his as she’d be able to grasp until he was fully undressed when he froze. His head snapped up.

“You wanna try it?”

“Try what?”

She narrowed her eyes a little in curiosity over the way he spoke rather than the words themselves. Before Peter’s ‘exile,’ this wasn’t an uncommon question, passed between them on nights her mom worked or when Peter visited MJ for a quick, uh, _break_ during Spidey patrol. One time, she’d asked the question with Flash’s car keys dangling from her fingers. (She’d witnessed them drop from his pocket during second period and she and Peter had made out in the backseat over lunch. At decathlon practice that afternoon, MJ had returned the keys without a word.)

Really, the intensity of his excitement should’ve helped her figure it out faster, but her hair was strewn around her head and she had Peter’s erection cupped in her hand and the full force of her intellect wasn’t reporting for duty until school tomorrow morning.

“ _B.A.R.F._ ,” he said, face pink and beaming.

“Oh. _Oh_.” She chewed her lip. “Yeah. Yes. We should try it.”

“Cool.”

Peter basically flung himself off of her and the bed as she blinked, then rolled to watch him.

“One sec,” he requested, rapidly shucking his shorts to reveal his birthday briefs (yay!). “I was thinking... maybe the suit...”

“Take your time.”

A lazy smile spread across MJ’s face as she studied her boyfriend, starting at his disheveled hair, down his muscular back and solid thighs. It was easy to feel at ease while he got ready; once he started up the simulation―the specifics of which she knew fuck-all about―she expected her heart to begin racing. She stared with interest as Peter donned the nanotech suit Stark had made him before Europe. It seemed to glide across his skin to form a shining, metal mosaic. Quickly, he lowered the mask that had whooshed up over his head as part of the suit and turned towards her. With a little sideways grin, he fluffed his hair.

“I need my face exposed for the sensor.”

“And for kissing...” MJ waved her hand casually. “...etcetera.”

“And for kissing etcetera,” Peter agreed, gaze sliding to her unbuttoned shorts.

He crouched and unpacked the projector and sensor that he’d stowed in the back of his closet. That’s where his Iron Spider suit had been too―as opposed to his everyday Spidey suit, which hung on the back of his half-shut bedroom door like a floppy suit of onesie pajamas.

“You got enough room in there?” she asked as he stood up, positioning the small sensor at his temple. Aligned with his sightline, it would guide the projections, orienting them around his position.

“What? For the sensor?”

“There,” MJ corrected, nodding in the direction of his crotch. “Did Stark make it to accommodate... swelling?

Her boyfriend blushed and laughed awkwardly.

“It’s fine so far. He made the suit to be capable of moving with me, but no, I don’t think Mr. Stark ever thought I’d be wearing it in, um, this kinda situation.”

She shrugged as she sat up, hands braced behind her. Without an evil drone to affix it to, Peter glanced around, then set the projector on his desk. He fiddled for a minute. MJ’s heart rate sped up, just like she’d thought it would. Oh boy, oh god, what had he created for her? She knew the idea had come from how much she’d loved the feeling of being surrounded by Peter when they had sex in front of her bedroom mirror. Beyond that, he’d kept this project pretty secret.

“You ready?” he checked, then babbled, “It’s... it’s probably a little rough and definitely embarrassing, so if you hate it, just tell me and I’ll shut it off right away, no problem.”

“I want to see,” MJ assured him.

He looked as apprehensive as she felt now. Nerves. She knew this loser inside out and how little scope he had for his own abilities. She wasn’t wary of the thing not working; she was practically trembling over how good this might be. Peter did something more and she could see a glow around the edges of his body. Well, it looked like the projector had turned on. He’d learned something over the summer besides Shakespeare. His shoulders rose and fell in a deep breath and he came back to her, back to bed, but MJ’s gaze slipped away from him because he was no longer the only _him_ in the room.

“Peter,” she said.

“Peter _s_ ,” he corrected.

They couldn’t see her, but she noticed the simulated Peter she was looking at run his gaze over her chest as real Peter did. Wow, good call on her part with the sensor.

“They’re... they’re...”

“They’re tracking my line of site,” Peter explained enthusiastically. “The ones I recorded that way are, anyway. I did a couple early ones to practice programming them into the projector and I felt a little weird thinking about looking straight at you when you weren’t actually there, but then for the later ones I thought I should really try to, because that’s what’ll make it personal for you, right? Like, that’s what you’ll like and―”

She grabbed the back of his neck as she kissed him.

“They’re perfect. They’re all perfect. All... how many of them are there?”

Peering around the real Peter, MJ felt her insides swoop pleasurably at the array of false ones. They were all clothed (some in t-shirt and jeans, some in his regular Spidey suit), all standing, and hopefully all visible. If one of them was going to pop out from under the bed or something, she could see herself going from horny to horrified very quickly. One’s personalized kink machine should not spring any haunted-house style surprises on the user. Unless those surprises have been previously agreed upon, she thought. Or it was Halloween.

“There’re five of them. Six if you count me.” Peter smiled.

“I definitely count you. You’re still my favourite, don’t worry.”

“See if you say the same thing when we’re done.”

“Show me a good time and I will. Spider-Man.”

“And that’s why I put on the suit,” he rushed out, pulling her mouth hungrily to his.

It was strange, holding his neck and feeling both the glossy metal of the suit and his warm skin; she spent several minutes just stroking with her fingers to test the difference in textures. Every pass of her fingertips below Peter’s hairline made him try to lean his neck into her hand. He did love to be caressed.

“What are you doing?” he asked between kisses, sounding amused.

“Just exploring.”

Her eyes darted to a simulated Peter who wore low-slung pajama bottoms. He stretched his arms above his head, lifting the hem of his t-shirt, and she thought _oh yeah_. She and the real Peter hadn’t lain back down yet and MJ was starting to wonder about that. She enjoyed toying with this particular kink of his―how he practically wrapped himself around her finger when she called him by his other name―but the softer suit was more user-friendly in the arena of heavy petting.

“How long are you planning to keep this thing on, Spider-Man?” she wondered, moving her hands to his shoulders and probably leaving fingerprints all over it. The ultimate source of forensic evidence.

“Seeing as I can only be covered by one thing at a time, I’m thinking the suit comes off when we go for a condom. AH!”

MJ shrieked too, jerking back from her boyfriend. His suit had emitted a loud, cartoony kissing sound and spat a wrapped condom straight out of his chest. There had to be some hollowed out section there, she figured as she tried to slow her breathing, but she couldn’t see it. The suit had sealed back up immediately after providing what it had understood them to be asking for.

“Karen?” Peter asked weakly, turning his head from MJ to address his incorporeal suit lady. “What the hell was that?”

Though she’d looked away when he had (Pajama Peter was pulling his shirt off over his head now and she’d decided this was her new favourite TV channel), MJ was close enough to hear the answer.

“That would be the newly-installed After-School Special protocol.”

Peter closed his eyes and groaned.

“And what triggered it?”

MJ thought they both probably knew, but she understood why he’d want to be sure.

“‘Condom.’”

“Yeah, that’s what I figured. Mr. Stark loaded a whole bunch of con- of _them_ in there didn’t he?”

“There are twenty-four still in the chamber. I will also be notifying you a month in advance of their expiration date, should any remain that long, so that you can refill it.”

She squeezed her boyfriend’s shoulder supportively, or at least tried to. The metal didn’t give.

“Ok, thanks, Karen.”

Despite the scare, MJ found herself smirking.

“What was that you were saying before about Stark not preparing this suit for a scenario like this?” she prompted.

“I don’t even know when he messed around with it! I don’t think I ever left it alone! Ugh, unless he installed the updates one of the times I snuck out to come see you.” He sighed like he’s realized something and looked at her with an exasperated expression. “Leaving the property of the compound activated a playlist Mr. Stark put in the suit. I bet it also let him know I was gone. That’s so... it’s so sneaky! I thought he was too preoccupied with baby stuff to even think about my suits.”

“I mean,” MJ said, picking up the condom his suit had fired out, “it’s not _not_ baby stuff. It’s of the anti-baby variety.” Peter groaned again. “It’s nice to know he cares, I guess.”

Her boyfriend looked at her doubtfully.

“Really?”

“No, it’s invasive and presumptuous and I hate it, but I’m trying to make you feel better, dork.”

He touched her knee; she’d reacted to the surprise condom projectile by tucking her legs up against her chest.

“How ‘bout I ditch the suit and we forget all about this?” Peter suggested, taking the condom from her and flinging it clean across the room. He was obviously trying for ‘out of sight, out of mind,’ but her brain didn’t work that way.

“Not sure I’ll be able to forget. Maybe if you take the suit off nice and slow,” she teased.

Peter laughed.

“I think there’s only one speed.” He leaned in to kiss her and she tilted forward, folding her legs to bring her knees down. “But I can take my time with other things.” His lip dragged on hers and she could hardly stand it or the sight of wispy lashes on his lowered eyelids. “If you want.”

Her fast nodding had him packing away the nanotech in seconds, suddenly standing at the end of the bed in his underwear. Again, she admired the birthday present she’d bought him, then examined the bonus Peters.

“This isn’t going to turn into some kind of _Magic Mike_ show, is it?” she checked as a second Peter removed his t-shirt.

The real Peter laughed and lightly grabbed her ankles, spreading them apart before climbing up in between. MJ lowered herself down onto her back as Peter hovered over her, grinning.

“No. I tried not to do anything too...”

“Provocative,” she supplied, running her hands down his sides. Nice. No more metal suit in the way.

“Yeah. In case anybody saw the footage by accident.”

She nodded her approval. Peter kissed her softly, then harder when she threaded the fingers of one hand into his hair and tugged gently. He made a low, happy noise and rolled his hips against hers. When his chest brushed her breasts, MJ sighed into his mouth and felt him slip a hand between them, abruptly cupping and massaging her breast. By the time he was pinching and plucking her nipple, she was rocking up into him, trying to find the right pressure, the right spot. Peter’s hand moved leisurely over her ribs and down her stomach. He reached the open button of her shorts and fingered the skin right above.

“You still have your shorts on.”

“Maybe I need Spider-Man’s help getting out of them.”

Peter smiled against her mouth, his teeth on her lips, then kissed her swiftly a final time. Shifting his weight, he worked his way south with his lips. Meanwhile, his hands undid her zipper. He kissed unhurriedly across both of her breasts as he shuffled her shorts and underwear down her legs. MJ held his shoulders and dug her fingers into the firm muscle as he bit her nipple and closed his mouth over it. He sucked and she had nothing to rub against, no erection to grind on for relief. Restless and too wet, she pushed at his shoulders.

“A little faster would be fine,” she suggested.

His mouth left her nipple. He gave it a long lick before speaking.

“How much faster?”

Before she could tell him, Peter fucking curled two fingers inside her unexpectedly. MJ gasped, then angled her hips sharply to try to direct him to exactly the right spot. He began moving them in and out of her quickly, leaving her feeling hot and blurry and a step behind, wiggling her hips to sync with his pace.

“You might wanna look around every once in a while,” he said when he caught her watching him kiss the undersides of her breasts. “Don’t want all my hard work to go to waste.”

She smirked and laughed (and moaned, when he curled his fingers just right again). But she did turn her head and almost choked on air as one of the simulated Peters came closer. Thanks to the sensor, his gaze appeared focused on her chest, where her boyfriend’s face was. Ok, Peter wanted her to watch them? She’d watch them. They were all him, after all. _Yep_ , MJ thought as Closest Peter tapped his chest to drop his Spidey suit and display his sculpted body in nothing but boxers, _that’s all Peter_. Her gaze zipped to another, who was down to his jeans, and even those were hanging undone. That guy got a double take out of her when he smoothed his hand down his abdomen and she 100% thought , in spite of what Peter had told her, that he was going to reach into his underwear and start stroking his dick to prominence before her eyes. She heaved a heavy breath as her boyfriend started playing with her clit, other fingers pumping shallowly in and out of her.

MJ thought Peter might’ve mumbled something with the word ‘distracted,’ but she was watching Jeans Peter again. So intently, in fact, that her boyfriend’s mouth all of a sudden between her legs got a loud cry out of her. Peter looked up from his first licks and raised his eyebrows at her.

“Oh please,” she said hoarsely, “you’re not _that_ good.”

It was a lie and her boyfriend smiled at her, then kissed just above her clit.

“So how come you’re still watching _me_? _Me_ me, I mean,” he sort of clarified.

“I...”

She forgot her answer because he returned to working at her with his tongue as she began to speak. But the nerd held her eyes with all the politeness he usually showed while listening to her, as if he was calmly waiting on her answer, rather than slipping his tongue beneath her clit in a way that floated potential screams of pleasure up her throat like bubbles rising through water. MJ didn’t look away until she saw one of the simulated Suit Peters trip over his Spidey costume as he tried to step out of it. That was probably one of the instances in his recordings that Peter was embarrassed about, but at the sight of the clumsiness, MJ clutched her boyfriend’s hair, holding him momentarily still to rock herself against his tongue. The feeling it sent through her clit was icy, or fiery, she couldn’t tell, but it was _strong_. His simulations’ tiny slipups made them seem more real. Also, the ones tracking the sensor with their eyes now appeared to be keenly observing the real Peter making passionate love to her with his face between her thighs. Heat rushed up her neck into her face. That was more than she could bear. She came with her gaze back on Peter eating her out, just seeing his hips bumping desperately against the mattress before her eyes squeezed shut. One of those screams she’d felt rising burst out of her and formed into a rounder version of his name, the harsh sound of consonants sanded down by hazy bliss. Her hips rocked against his mouth until MJ regained enough awareness to let Peter―grinning in satisfaction as her eyes blinked open―pull away.

“How was that?” he asked quietly, wiping his mouth roughly with his palm and laying himself over her. He kissed quickly and lightly at her neck as MJ attempted to find even one thought to collect, slowly caressing the back of his head where she’d ended up kinda yanking at his hair.

“That one,” she said, swinging her arm out to point at Jeans Peter, “almost killed me.”

Peter snorted hot air against her throat as he laughed. She looped her arms loosely around his neck, enjoying the sound of his laugh, and wriggled a little in place to find a cooler spot in the sheets beneath her. Letting her eyes close, MJ turned her head and brushed her lips and nose along her boyfriend’s biceps. His laughter trickled to a stop and she thought she could sense the mood in the room do a lateral slide―from the happiness of joking around together to the waiting bliss of moving together again. Her hands crept down his back. She squirmed her fingers under the band of his briefs. Peter’s head rose with a jerk. The focus in his eyes as he stared down at her, six inches between his nose and hers, made everything in her swish like a curtain in a breeze; she felt as though he’d abruptly picked her up off the ground to wave and twist and shake off gravity’s grip on her. She smoothed both hands over his ass, then seized hold and encouraged him down and forward, rubbing against her through his underwear. As colour suffused his face, MJ watched him lick his lip.

“I’m gonna take these off now,” she told him, maintaining eye contact.

Peter nodded and she worked his underwear down, mindful of stretching the elastic away from the head of his cock. She pushed the briefs as far as she could reach, cheeks likely glowing, threatening to flame from the heat of his gaze. Her breathing was shaky, her eyelids half-lowered, as Peter ducked his head to kiss her with his lips parted, tonguing tracing hers. She went, “ _Mmmf_!” into his mouth when his rigid, straining erection grazed her stomach. They drew each other close with greedy hands, her boyfriend’s grip suddenly secure on the back of her neck as he swirled his tongue around hers until her channel clenched impatiently. MJ tilted her hips in invitation.

But Peter, that idiot, always had his own plan.

She clung on when he tried to pull away and between her quick hands and the briefs caught around his knees, he was forced to halt for a minute.

“Would you quit getting up?”

“No, no, no,” he said with a smile. “This is gonna be good. I had an idea.”

“Here’s an idea,” MJ countered, wrapping her legs around his hips. Peter’s breath caught and his eyes flickered shut as the head of his cock nudged between her thighs. She traced a finger behind his ear, making him shiver, and whispered, “Come on, Spider-Man.”

MJ seriously thought that would do it, but he surprised her, like he did sometimes.

“ _Exactly_ ,” Peter said. She frowned as she released him so he could sit up, then bound smoothly off the bed. “ _Spider-Man_.”

He gestured to one of his projected selves who wore a Spidey suit. Well, kinda wore it; this version of Peter had made his suit go slack and stripped off the top half, only keeping the bottom of the suit up by gripping the material at his hip.

“Yeah, he’s hot. What’s your point?”

Her boyfriend fumbled for words at her blatant admiration. Hey, he was the one who’d filmed that footage with his abs and chest and arms out, so many rounded planes of muscle she wanted to rub her hands over, memorizing by touch before doing her best to replicate them in the Night Pad.

“If we stay on the bed,” Peter explained, now expressing how flustered he was through too-big gestures, “you won’t get the full effect.”

“I promise to look around, ok? I like the bed. Let’s stick with the bed, sticky boy.”

She arched her back slightly in an attempt at underhanded persuasion and saw her boyfriend stare at her boobs. But he shook his head.

“Peter,” MJ said sternly, “we are not having sex on your floor. I’m willing to bet you haven’t cleaned in here since you guys moved back.”

“Ok,” he muttered to himself, turning to present her with his ass (she was temporarily placated by the sight), “not the floor… Yes!”

He wheeled the chair away from his desk and spun it so the seat pointed towards her. As she observed the way the simulated Peters reoriented around her boyfriend, now at their center, he grabbed a condom and waved it at her.

“Come on, M,” he said with a smirk that was rising in confidence. “Don’t you want to feel surrounded?”

She swore under her breath and exhaled a sigh through her nose, laying flat on the bed.

“I think this is definitely my version of how you feel when I call you ‘Spider-Man’,” MJ admitted.

It was a little hard to do, to tell Peter he had this power―he had a lot of powers, but this one was over her specifically. What he’d said… that phrase brought back visceral memory of them fucking in front of her mirror, his fingers light on her spine. The most important thing was that it was _Peter_ who had the power. Peter would never hurt her with this. This was safe with him, the secret as safe in his mind as her body was in his hands. Because she trusted him, she rose from the bed, and because he was Peter, he waited as she took the few steps to reach him, admiring the extra Peters as she went. She skirted around one who was bent over, struggling to peel off his socks. She didn’t have to, she could walk right through (or send her hand flying through his ass if she attempted to slap it), but they felt real. That was the whole point.

MJ took another long breath and nodded to him. Him, the condom, the chair. She felt good about this idea, she felt _fond_. Another glance around at the array of projected boyfriends confirmed that the chair was the way to go. They seemed to be looking at her as she got closer to the real Peter. She could be at the center of it all. Her toes scrunched the rug in anticipation.

“After you,” she said. “Pretty sure this only works if I’m the one in _your_ lap.”

Unexpectedly, Peter hugged her. She caught his cheek with a kiss as he pulled away and sat on the chair. He was… he was so infuriatingly, unrepayably _eager_ about his plan to give her even more pleasure than she was already getting out of this scenario―a scenario he’d also facilitated by using his own two hands to make a sensor, repair an evil-drone projector, and program video of himself getting semi-naked (ok, nope, fully naked in one case―MJ just spotted the base of his dick and brown curls when Jeans Peter’s thumb snagged the band of his boxers as he went to take his jeans off). He’d done so much. And it was for _her_. Could she count crying as another way Peter made her wet?

She blinked before anything like tears could accumulate though. He was staring boldly at her, rolling the condom on while tracking the way she gathered her hair and drew it over her shoulder, then pushed it restlessly back. When she bent the first knee to position her left shin on the chair alongside his right thigh, Peter’s gaze snuck between her legs. MJ settled into place, hips not quite in contact with his. She grabbed her boyfriend’s chin and looked at him with a smirk. She only needed three words for this.

“I love you,” MJ told him.

With his hands clutching securely, lovingly, at her thighs and the evidence of hours of work intangibly filling the room around them, there was nothing more to say. Peter had to buzz his reply into her lips as she kissed him. As he gripped his erection, she sank down.

The emotion she experienced was _finally_. Anyone who didn’t consider that an emotion didn’t know shit, MJ thought, or hadn’t been in love like this. Maybe _she_ hadn’t even realized she was in love like this―in a way that she’d waited for and argued for and literally fought for, leaving attackers and Flash and a summer of sweating and pining in her wake. Drawing and dreaming and feeling Peter press her to the wall inside Yankee Stadium, eating breakfast at Tiffany’s with Princess Shuri and having her boyfriend give her head with the both of them covered in bruises. It had seemed like so much time as it passed; hours riding on hot buses and sketching in cool, clammy hospital waiting rooms. Now, all of that was a moment. It was _that one time she wasn’t with Peter_ and it was over. He was here and he would be here. MJ jerked her hips hard with his. She’d been complete, her own person without him, but to be herself beside him was something she couldn’t replace.

“What are you thinking?” he asked, softly pushing hair out of her face as his hips slammed up into hers, making MJ heave forward and fumble for a hold between his shoulders and neck.

“Summer holiday retrospective,” she gasped out. She rolled her hips to rub her clit against him.

Peter huffed an amazed laugh, gradually taking more control. He pushed his legs apart to widen the spread of hers and MJ groaned low in her throat, head falling back, at how deep he was inside her. While he guided her hips up and down, forward and back to stimulate her clit, capable hands on her hip and the back of her thigh, she pressed her face to the side of his. He made a noise in his throat like gargling gravel as she tightened up around his cock. Her breath caught and skipped. MJ knew that, as close as their heads were with her cheek bumping up against his, Peter was looking at her. She knew because the projected Peters were too. They appeared to study her flushed, panting face, shifting their weight as they stood around the chair in their boxers and slackened Spidey suits. Heaps of blatant eroticism, designed to turn her on―MJ was _well_ aware―but also tiny moments that meant even more because she knew Peter had known she would notice them. Like when Pajama Peter stretched his arms up to mess with his hair in a way that exposed a dangerously low glimpse of his torso (she was certain that one was _not_ wearing underwear), or one of the Suit Peters _pretended_ to adjust his hold on the fabric slipping from his hips when he was _actually_ discretely palming his dick.

MJ’s boyfriend bucked and held her close and made a noise of humbled wonder as he climaxed and she started to quake in his arms, her legs twitching as they gripped him. He took a deep breath and buried his face against her neck, breathing heat across her skin, leading her, guiding her, working with her, _almost there_. Either on purpose or by accident, her boyfriend’s foot struck the floor and the chair spun slowly. She moaned and clutched at his hair, gaze darting to each of the simulated iterations of him. They were all around her, and Peter? Of all the places in the world, Peter was right here.

* * *

EPILOGUE

“Hey, man,” Peter greeted Flash, bumping fists with him as they headed to practice.

MJ rolled her eyes when Flash glanced around to see who might be observing this clear act of friendship between him and Spider-Man. Today had been a mix of seeing her boyfriend bombarded with questions and silently stared at whenever he entered a room. Fortunately, between herself, Ned, Betty, and Cindy (and, fine, _Flash_ ), Peter didn’t have a single class without one of his close friends in it and MJ knew everyone had stepped up to shield him from the ogling and other weirdness of their fellow students. Even Mr. Harrington had stared at Peter with wide eyes, though that could’ve just been his amazement that Peter was still alive.

She let their hands swing, fingers loosely interlocked, and turned back to her conversation with Cindy, who was walking along at her side in a black-and-white tie-dyed t-shirt. MJ wondered if it was a compromise with her parents between her largely utilitarian wardrobe and acid-washed jeans. Her friend also had her hair back in a French braid instead of her classic ponytail and _that_ , MJ thought, could be the influence of someone else in Cindy’s life. She wouldn’t be putting so much significance on the braid if Cindy wasn’t making it perfectly clear who was on her mind.

“It’s too soon to be sure,” she was saying at a whisper, “but I might be going over the holidays.”

“To Wakanda? Seriously?”

“I’d be the guest of the princess,” Cindy confirmed and she was _blushing_ , so MJ elbowed her playfully in the side. “If! _If_ it happens. Getting permission for something like this is apparently a lot more complicated than planning a trip to Disney World.”

“I’m sure the princess is already strong-arming her brother into arranging everything,” MJ assured her.

Flash pushed open the door of the decathlon practice room and held it for Peter. MJ rolled her eyes again, but then he held it for her and Cindy too, only flinching a little as she narrowed her eyes at him in suspicion.

“And if _this_ trip goes well,” Cindy said, shrugging her backpack off her shoulders, “Shuri said she’d work on setting up an exchange.”

“What do you mean?”

“With whatever university I decide to go to. Shuri’s involved with Wakanda’s outreach initiative and she’s interested in the idea of bringing a select handful of exchange students there to learn. I could do a semester, or even a year, studying Wakandan architecture and put it towards my degree!” She drew out a chair at the table and sat, shrugging. “But we don’t want to get ahead of ourselves.”

MJ raised her eyebrows.

“Oh, I can tell. The princess setting up an entire exchange program just to spend time with you is very low-key.”

“Shut up.”

MJ laughed and sat next to her friend, bumping into her boyfriend as he tried to pull the chair back for her.

“Dork,” she accused.

“You love it,” he reminded her, kissing her swiftly and surprisingly on the cheek.

She darted a look at Flash, whose eyes were on his phone. Had he seen that display of affection or not? Fuck, it wasn’t that MJ actually cared about his feelings now, but she didn’t need any more team drama. They were heading into the term one teammate short anyway, since she’d made it clear to Brad that he was not invited to return. She’d have to recruit new members, maybe do tryouts. It was her responsibility as captain to keep their team intellectually robust. That, and to kick off the first meeting of the year. MJ waved a hand to catch the attention of Betty and Ned, murmuring adoringly to each other across the table from her. She didn’t miss that they had matching backpacks.

“Mr. Harrington told me he’s going to be a few minutes late,” she informed the group.

Immediately, MJ lost the flow of her words. She’d forgotten how to do this. She knew these people, knew them well, and everything was so _normal_. It was almost like it was just so good to see them all together that she’d rather not rush them through the itinerary. But it left an awkward pause as they’d clearly expected her to go on after signalling for everyone’s attention.

Her boyfriend decided to rescue her.

“So,” Peter asked casually, “how was everybody’s summer?”

MJ was startled into a laugh along with the rest of their friends. He grinned when he found her eyes on him and she reached for his hand under the table. This time, they held on tight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [fade to black]
> 
> [Nina Simone's cover of "Here Comes the Sun" plays]


End file.
